University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

THE  PETER  AND  ROSELL  HARVEY 

MEMORIAL  FUND 


GLOYEBSON 


AND  HIS 


SILENT PABTNEES 


BY 

RALPH   KEELER. 


BOSTON: 

LEE    AND    SHEPARD. 

1869, 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

RALPH  KEELER, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY 

H.  0.  HOUGHTON  AND  COMPANT. 


TO  THE 

HON.   GEORGE   P.   MARSH, 

UNITED  STATES  AMBASSADOR  AT  THE  COURT  OF  ITALY, 

BY  WHOSE  KINDNESS  THE  AUTHOR  WAS  ENABLED  TO  COMPLETE 

HIS  "BAREFOOTED"  TOUR  OF  EUROPE,  ON  ONE  HUN- 

DRED AND  EIGHTY-ONE  DOLLARS  IN  CURRENCY 


LAID    IN    SCENES     SO    LITTLE     KNOWN     TO    THE    WORLD    OF    FACT   OR 
FICTION,   IS   GRATEFULLY    AND    RESPECTFULLY 

DEDICATED. 


CONTENTS.* 
/ 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  HOUSE    OF    GLOVERSON    AND    CO.  —  WITH    ESPECIAL    REFER- 
ENCE  TO   ITS   CASHIER 9 

CHAPTER  II. 

OLD   FRIENDS .18 

CHAPTER  III. 

A   SOCIAL  EVENING 26 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   STEAMER 39 

CHAPTER  V. 

MISS  SOPHIA   GARR  DEVELOPS  INTO  AN  ANGEL         .          .          .  .43 

CHAPTER  VI. 

UN  BALLO  IN  MASCHERA 53 

CHAPTER  VII. 

AMOS  DIXON  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  PESTALOZZI,   AND   HIS   SYSTEM         67 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

PREPARATORY .  .  - 77 

CHAPTER  IX. 

IN  WHICH  THE  UNITIES   ARE  VIOLATED 84 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  X. 

PAGB 
FOE    WHICH   LOVE   IS   MOSTLY    RESPONSIBLE 96 

CHAPTER  XI. 

BECKONING 108 

CHAPTER  XII. 

MR.    DIXON   MAKES   A   BAD   IMPRESSION   .  .  .  .  .  .      114 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

FANTASTICAL   AND    GARRESQUE 122 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

WHEREIN   A    SIMPLE   QUESTION   BECOMES   HARD   TO   ANSWER  .      135 

CHAPTER  XV. 

MR.    DIXON   MAKES   A   GOOD    IMPRESSION 140 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

MR.    ARCHIBALD   BEANSON 148 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   SMOOTHER   TIDE 157 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

HOW   SOPHIA   EARNS   HER   SALARY 163 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

AMOS   DIXON   RECEIVES   A  THUNDERBOLT 169 

CHAPTER   XX. 

FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  MR.  A.  DJXON 176 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
POP  !  182 


CONTENTS.  vii 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

PAGE 
KARL  SCHMERLTNG 195 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

OUT  OF   THE   SHADOW    .  .  . 207 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MISS   SOPHIA   GARR   ENGAGES   IN  THE   STUDY   OF  THE   LAW  .        ^.      221 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  GALA  AFTEUNOON .  .  233 

CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE   INTERIORS   OF   TWO   MINDS 244 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
STOCKS 253 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A   LONE   STRUGGLE 260 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN   THE   LISTS 272" 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

UP  THE   STEEPS   WITH   GLOVERSON 284 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

AMOS   DIXON  PROVIDES   FOR  TWO   PERSONS  ....  302 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

AT  THE   GRAVE  v  .      316 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

AT  THE  ALTAR 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XSXIV. 

PAGE 
HENRY   COMES S    .  .         343 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

DRIFTING '       .  346 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

FINALE,   IN  WHICH  THE   WHOLE   FIRM  PARTICIPATES  .  .        357 


GLOVERSON  AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   HOUSE    OP   GLOVERSON  AND    CO.  —  WITH    ESPECIAL 
REFERENCE    TO    ITS    CASHIER. 

AMOS  DIXON,  aged  twenty-eight  years  and  one  month, 
was  neither  tall  nor  short.  He  was  one  of  that  kind  of 
people  who  always  look  like  somebody  else  —  one  of 
those  who,  at  an  evening  sociable,  being  present,  would 
be  forgotten ;  and,  being  absent,  would  be  inquired  about. 
In  fact,  Amos  Dixon  was  calculated  to  be,  like  an  ac- 
quaintance of  Voltaire's,  conspicuous  by  his  absence. 

But  the  Great  Publisher  of  men  and  sparrows  does 
not  stereotype  his  editions.  So,  of  course,  Amos  Dixon 
could  lay  claim  to  certain  little  peculiarities,  which  cir- 
cumscribed him,  as  a  great  irregular  polygon,  within  the 
circumference  of  his  own  circle.  • 

For  instance,  the  clothes  of  Amos  Dixon  —  more  than 
any  in  your  fine  descriptions  —  seemed  a  parr  of  him. 
No  matter  who  his  merchant  tailor,  the  back  of  his  coat 
invariably  led  a  nomadic  existence,  camping  anywhere 
but  on  the  place  for  which  it  was  designed.  Those 
creases,  characteristic  of  the  front  parts  of  ready-made 
pantaloons,  when  new,  were  always  observable  upon  the 


10  GLOVEHSOX 

legs  of  Amos ;  remaining  there,  if  left  by  the  pressing- 
iron,  or  coming  of  their  own  accord,  on  some  mysterious 
principle,  akin  to  that  by  which  lint  settles  along  the 
inner  seams  of  a  garment. 

He  had  never  asked  for  the  lucrative  place  he  now 
filled.  He  had  served  in  lesser  capacities,  so  long  and 
faithfully,  that  it  had  been  fairly  thrust  upon  him.  Amos 
Dixon  had  lately  been  appointed  cashier  of  that  prosper- 
ous jobbing-house,  Gloverson  &  Co.'s,  Front  Street, — 
a  firm  at  this  day  too  well  known  in  San  Francisco,  and 
indeed,  throughout  all  the  Pacific  States,  to  need  any  ex- 
tended mention  here.  In  its  particular  line,  that  house 
was  then,  as  it  is  now,  ensconced  behind  the  Ossa  and 
Pelion  of  Alcatraz  and  Fort  Point  —  one  of  the  demi- 
gods of  trade  ;  and  Amos  Dixon  (ruining  utterly,  as  he 
does,  this  classical  figure)  was  its  monetary  hierophant, 
and  occupied  the  highest  and  most  confidential  tripod 
in  its  counting-room. 

It  might  have  been  design,  or  it  might  have  been  a 
freak ;  or,  as  strange  as  it  may  seem,  it  might  have  been 
downright  modesty,  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Gloverson,  the 
head  of  the  firm,  that  he  had  never,  even  in  the  presence 
of  his  cashier,  alluded  to  his  silent  partner  or  partners. 
The  business  was  done,  and  the  books  were  kept,  in  the 
name  of  Gloverson  &  Co.,  from  year  to  year ;  and  that 
was  the  end  of  it.  Some  people  affirmed  that  the  "  Co." 
was  a  New  York  house  in  the  same  line  of  trade  ;  others 
contended  that  fat  old  Andrew  Gloverson  was  the  whole 
firm  himself;  adding,  jocosely,  that  he  was  certainly  big 
enough.  Mr.  Dixon,  however,  having  a  shrewd  idea  that 
there  was  no  mystery  whatever  in  the  matter,  minded 
his  own  business  and  did  his  work  to  the  best  of  his 
ability. 


AXD  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  11 

And  here  he  is  alone  in  his  little  room  on  Clary 
Street,  after  business  hours  on  a  Saturday  afternoon. 
This  apartment  of  bed,  table,  and  wash-stand,  he  rented 
when  he  could  afford  no  other ;  and  he  cannot  afford  to 
leave  it  now,  for  the  precious  memories  he  would  leave 
with  it.  He  is,  sitting  with  one  hand  under  his  chin,  and 
his  elbow  on  the  table. 

Looking  into  the  kindly  eyes  and  not  otherwise  re- 
markable face  of  Amos  Dixon,  you  would  not  at  first 
imagine  that  the  poor  fellow  is  deformed.  Should  you, 
indeed,  penetrate  several  inches  beneath  his  wrinkled 
and  ill-setting  waistcoat,  you  would  not  be  any  the  wiser. 

Yet  Amos  Dixon  is  deformed,  with  a  deformity  more 
frequent  than  the  sympathy  for  it.  The  hand  of  the 
world  is  raised  oftener  against  unfortunates  with  his  pe- 
culiar affliction  than  against  all  your  diables  boiteux,  your 
wicked  dwarfs,  and  your  long-suffering  hunchbacks. 

Amos  Dixon  is  afflicted  with  a  large  heart. 

Still,  with  his  hand  under  his  chin,  he  thinks  how  his 
present  success  would  have  comforted  and  delighted  his 
poor  mother  now  dead.  Then  he  thinks  of  the  early 
struggles  succeeding  his  advent  in  California,  and  how 
glad  he  is  that  she  had  never  known  of  his  being  pen- 
niless and  friendless  so  far  away  from  her.  Then  he 
thinks  of  his  first  connection  as  porter  with  the  house  of 
Gloverson  &  Co. ;  then,  how  artful  and  clever  it  is  in 
him  to  have  retained  this  little  room,  in  the  back  street, 
where,  in  the  time  gone  by,  he  had  written  letters  to  his 
mother,  and  read  hers  over  and  over  again. 

A  loud  thump  brought  the  foregoing  revery  to  a  sud- 
den close.  Amos  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  opened  the 
door  of  his  little  Toom. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Dixon,  what  on  earth   ails  you  ?  .    I've 


12  GLOVERSON 

knocked  three  times,"  said  his  little  landlady,  "  yes,  three 
mortal  times,  and  here's  Aunty  Owen  waiting  down  in 
the  yard  all  this  while.  She  wouldn't  come  in.  She 
wants  to  see  you.  I  think  she's  in  trouble." 

"  In  trouble  !  "  exclaimed  Amos. 

"  Yes  —  now  stop,  Mr.  Dixon,  and  put  on  your  coat, 
and  take  your  hat.  What  will  the  neighbors  think  ? 
There,  now  go  ! " 

"  Good  afternoon,  Aunty  Owen,"  said  Amos,  as  he 
reached  the  yard,  and  looked  inquiringly  into  the  face  of 
an  old  woman  —  a  face  in  whose  soft  wrinkles  any  one 
might  read,  even  through  the  cloud  there,  a  mild,  homily 
on  loving-kindness.  What  must  have  been  the  light 
brown  hair  of  the  spring-time,  was  still  the  light  brown 
hair  of  the  winter  of  her  years.  The  snows  of  age  had 
drifted  sparsely  above  a  brow  of  so  much  sunshine. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  repeated  Amos  ;  "  how  much  shall 
I  let  you  have  ?  This  is  all  I  have  with  me.  Will  it  be 
enough  till  Monday  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  money,  Mr.  Dixon,  it  isn't  money,"  and  a 
tear  trembled  on  the  lid  of  Aunty  Owen.  "  Will  you 
come  home  with  me,  Mr.  Dixon  ? " 

Without  saying  a  word,  Amos  opened  the  gate  and 
closed  it  behind  the  old  lady  and  himself,  as  they  issued 
forth  upon  the  sidewalk. 

On  the  same  little  street,  but  on  the  opposite  side,  and 
at  a  distance  of  about  a  block,  they  entered  another 
gate,  and  the  little  brown  house  which  was  the  home  of 
Aunty  Owen. 

"  Sit  in  that  chair,  Mr.  Dixon  ;  that  is  the  one  Henry 
likes  the  best  —  and  I  know  he  is  coming.  There,  no, 
no ;  no  money,  Mr.  Dixon.  Henry  always  leaves  me 
plenty.  He  is  freight-clerk,  now ;  he  will  be  purser  of 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  13 

the  steamer,  next  year,  if  he —  if—  Oh  !  Henry  is  coin- 
ing, don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Calm  yourself,  Aunty  Owen.  Henry 
^will  come." 

"  How  much  I  thank  you,  sir  ;  that  was  what  I  wanted 
of  you  ;  I  wanted  to  hear  you  say  that  —  but,"  and  there 
was  a  deeper  cloud  passed  over  the  old  lady's  face, 
"  but  the  steamer  was  never  so  late  before.  You  are 
sure  she  has  not  been  heard  from  yet  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Aunty  Owen  ;  but  I  will  go  to  the  office  of  the 
company  this  very  afternoon  and  learn  all  I  can." 

"  God  bless  you,  Mr.  Dixon  —  yes,  Henry  is  coming,  I 
am  sure  Henry  is  coming." 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  should  happen  so,"  mused  Amos 
aloud,  "  but  I  was  thinking  of  my  own  mother  just  as 
you  called  for  me  this  afternoon." 

"  Your  own  mother  ?     Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  In  Heaven,  I  believe  —  she  is  dead." 

"  Dead  ?  dead  !  Somehow,  I  am  afraid  of  that  word 
lately.  Ah !  what  will  my  Henry  do  when  I  am  gone  ? 
And  he  is  coming,  don't  you  think  ?  For  he's  the  only 
child  that's  left  me.  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  separated 
from  my  son,  but  death,"  and  a  tremor  that  seemed  to 
commence  in  her  voice,  spread  over  Aunty  Owen's  entire 
frame,  "  death  is  a  stranger  separation  —  do  you  feel 
chilly,  too,  Mr.  Dixon  ?  " 

"There,  there,"  said  Amos,  rising  to  go  ;  "  do  not  let 
it  trouble  you  any  more.  The  steamer  may  have  been 
telegraphed  by  this  time.  I  will  go  to  the  office  and  find 
out." 

Aunty  Owen  watched  him  till  he  was  out  of  sight. 

At  the  office  of  the  company,  nothing  had  been  heard 
of  the  missing  steamer.  Amos  could  see  that  the  agent 


14  GLOVERS OX 

endeavored  to  conceal  his  anxiety.  Returning  toward 
Aunty  Owen's,  the  poor  fellow  was  studying  intently  how 
he  could  comfort  the  old  lady  without  being  guilty  of 
falsehood,  when,  on  Market  Street,  he  came  very  near 
colliding  with  a  young  lady  of  about  thirty  summers, 
who  was  coming  in  an  opposite  direction.  Even  then, 
he  did  not  look  up,  till  he  was  fairly  pulled  up  by  the  ears, 
figuratively  speaking,  for  a  voice  said  :  — 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Dixon  ?  " 

He  now  seemed  to  recollect  that  he  had  seen  some- 
thing trying  to  get  out  of  his  way ;  and  the  first  act  of 
his  returning  presence  of  mind  was  to  understand  the 
lady  to  say  :  — 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Mr.  Dixon  ?  " 

"  That's  it  —  what  am  I  doing  !  Excuse  me,  I 
never " — 

Here  followed  a  host  of  apologies,  and,  after  the  apol- 
ogies, more  consciousness. 

"  Why,  Miss  Garr  ! "  exclaimed  Amos,  for  the  first  time 
recognizing  a  slight  acquaintance. 

"  No  apology  is  necessary,  Mr.  Dixon.  The  offense 
would  have  been  in  your  passing  without  looking  at  me," 
said  the  lady,  with  a  seductive  smile. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Miss  Garr,  but  you  see  "  — 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  no  matter  whatever ;  but,  to  make 
up,  you  must  come  a  ways  with  me." 

"  Really,  Miss  Garr  "  - 

"Not  another  word^I  command  you  !"  interposed  Mr. 
Dixon's  slight  acquaintance,  in  the  manner  of  a  queen  of 
Babylon.  "  Come  right  along,  sir." 

Amos  saw  an  excuse  for  delaying  the  bad  news  he 
must  bear  to  Aunty  Owen,  and  —  obeyed.  The  two 
proceeded  across  Montgomery  and  down  Second  Street 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  15 

Miss  Sophia  Garr  had  confided  to  a  particular  friend, 
on  the  very  day  of  her  introduction  to  Mr.  Dixon,  that  she 
looked  upon  him  as  "  a  rising  young  man."  In  fact,  she 
had  a  higher  opinion  of  his  position  and  prospects,  than 
did  Amos  himself. 

Now  this  was  perfectly  natural.  Had  not  Miss  Sophia 
Garr  come,  in  her  solitary  maidenhood,  from  the  bleak 
hills  of  Maine,  for  the  gold  that  is  supposed  to  be  hidden 
in  the  bleak  hills  of  California?  She  could  not  mine  for 
it,  it  is  true,  in  the  gulches  and  river-beds,  owing  to  a 
popular  prejudice  against  woman's  rights ;  but,  then, 
there  was  a  liberal  school  fund  to  delve  in.  In  the  horti- 
culture of  the  young  idea,  she  saw  her  silver  mine,  and  in 
the  affections  of  men,  "  a  place  for  the  gold  where  they 
fine  it." 

As  a  teacher,  Miss  Garr  had  succeeded  in  laying  by 
quite  a  little  sum  of  money,  during  the  six  years  of  her 
residence  on  the  shores  of  the  Pacific ;  but,  though  she 
had  "  prospected  "  assiduously  all  these  seasons,  her  gold 
mining  had  as  yet  been  unsuccessful.  The  affections  of 
men  she  had  come  to  consider  more  like  quicksilver ; 
though  she  still  hoped  to  find  the  hundred-and-fifty-pound 
ingot  of  a  husband. 

Miss  Sophia  Garr  v,  ore  ready-made  cloaks. 

There  are  people  in  San  Francisco  who  shop  and 
promenade  and  reign  on  the  cheaper  thoroughfares,  as 
Kearny  and  Second  Streets  ;  scarcely  ever  appearing  on 
the  fashionable  Boulevard  des  Italiens  of  the  Pacific. 
Miss  Garr  showed  her  genius  for  combination,  in  that 
she  shopped  on  Second  Street,  and  promenaded  Mont- 
gomery. 

As  to  figure,  Sophia  was  only  moderately  proportioned. 
The  California  winds  had  not  dealt  tenderly  with  her 


16  GLOVERSON 

complexion.  Her  lips  were  thin,  her  nose  sharp ;  and 
her  eyes  looked  as  if  they  had  been  tanned  to  match  her 
face.  To  sum  up  all,  Miss  Garr  was  not  pretty.  But  what 
did  that  matter  to  her  ?  She  was  in  the  conservative 
darkness  of  so  many  of  her  sex :  she  did  not  know  it. 

"  You  are  going  to  call  upon  me,  of  course,  Mr.  Dixon," 
continued  the  subject  of  the  foregoing  description.  "  You 
don't  know  how  anxious  I  am  to  see  more  of  you." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  yes,"  exclaimed  Amos,  suddenly  roused 
again  from  his  thoughts  of  Aunty  Owen. 

Turning  down  Folsom  Street,  they  pursued  their  way, 
talking  not  the  airy  nothings  of  ordinary  converse.  No, 
this  was  real  pick-axe  work  to  Miss  Sophia  Garr.  She 
was  "  prospecting "  for  her  future  gold  mine,  and  her 
hundred-and-fifty -pound  ingot. 

They  finally  parted  before  the  door  of  one  of  those 
princely  mansions  in  that  quarter  of  the  city,  Miss  Garr 
having  iterated  her  request  for  Mr.  Dixon  to  call  upon 
her. 

•  After  she  had  entered,  Amos  turned  and  noted  the 
house  and  grounds  Attentively.  "Well,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, "  there  is  one  thing  I  am  sure  of,  my  new  friend  lives 
in  fine  style  —  an  elegant  house,  an  elegant  house  !  " 

At  that  moment,  a  little  wild  bird  from  an  acacia,  in 
front  of  the  house,  set  up  a  song  that  filled  the  whole 
lawn  with  a  lovely  staccato  of  crystal  echoes.  It  was 
sweeter  than  the  elaborate  efforts  of  pipe  or  viol,  because 
God's  own  minstrelsy,  by  a  troubadour  of  nature. 

Now  Amos  was  not  at  all  given  to  poetical  things,  and 
probably  never  before  in  his  life  had  noticed  the  song  of 
a  wild  bird.  But  there  was  something  so  exquisite  in 
this ;  breaking  in,  as  it  did,  on  the  stillness  of  a  summer 
afternoon  ;  rising  from  the  little  throat,  a  full  fountain 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  17 

of  glorious  music,  scattering  its  spray  of  melody  every- 
where, that  even  Amos  stopped  and  listened,  and,  to  this 
day,  he  has  not  forgotten  the  pleasant  thrill  it  gave 
him. 

Turning  leisurely  back  Folsom  Street,  the  subject  of 
Aunty  Owen's  anxiety  again  took  possession  of  his  mind. 
He  could  still  see,  in  imagination,  the  poor  old  woman 
looking  after  him  from  the  door  of  the  little  brown  house, 
just  as  his  own  mother  had  looked  tearfully  after  him, 
when  he  had  taken  leave  of  her  for  the  long  journey  to 
this  golden  land,  years  ago.  There  might  be  better  news 
by  this  time.  The  steamer  might  have  beea  telegraphed. 
Clinging  to  this '  mere  shred  of  hope,  Amos  pursued  his 
way  back,  through  the  labyrinth  of  skeets,  to  the 
steamship  office. 


18  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  II. 

OLD    FRIENDS. 

THE  succeeding  Monday  morning  was  as  sunny  and 
cheerful  as  all  summer  mornings  are  in  California.  At 
an  office  window  in  Montgomery  Street,  large  piles  of 
gold  and  "  greenbacks "  were  already  displayed.  Be- 
hind these  was  also  displayed,  at  a  desk,  the  short, 
wiry  figure  of  .a  man,  in  his  rapt  eagerness,  climb- 
ing rather  than  poring  over  a  large  Sales-book.  The 
sun,  streaming  through  the  gilt  legend,  "  George  Lang, 
Stock  and  Money  Broker,"  on  the  Tjindow,  gave  a 
metallic  tinge  to  the  sallowness  of  this  man,  and  es- 
pecially lit  up  the  campaign  going  on  in  what  might 
be  termed  the  Low  Countries  of  his  weazen  face  — 
that  is,  his  compressed  lips  bent,  in  mighty  struggle, 
to  meet  the  tip  of  his  long-peaked  nose.  The  parched 
border-land  of  the  upper  lip  was  sparsely  wooded  by  a 
heather  of  scrubby  moustache,  which  served  all  the  pur- 
pose of  bristling  chevaux  de  frise,  in  repressing  forays 
from  either  side.  So  the  nose  never  quite  reached  the 
under  lip,  and  the  under  lip  never  got  quite  across  the 
border  to  the  nose.  It  was  a  moment  of  desperate  con- 
flict when  an  armistice  was  sounded  thus:  — 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Shallop." 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  and  the  belligerent  lips  of  Mr. 
Shallop  parted  in  a  knowing  smile. 

This  latter  greeting  was  addressed  to  the  handsomer 


AND  HIS   SILENT   PARTNERS.  19 

of  the  two  gentlemen  who  had  just  entered,  arm  in  arm, 
—  the  one  with  black  eyes  and  elegant  moustache, — 
Mr.  Nelson  Shallop's  employer ;  in  a  word,  Mr.  George 
Lang  himself.  The  eyes  of  Shallop,  the  faithful  clerk, 
stealing  restlessly  over  his  Sales-book,  now  careered  from 
the  face  of  Mr.  Lang  to  that.of  the  tall,  slender  gentle- 
man who  accompanied  him.  The  cast  in  one  of  Mr. 
Shallop's  eyes,  at  this  moment,  was  plainly  visible. 

"Anything  special,  Mr.  Lang?"  and  the  same- bellig- 
erent lips  parted  again  with  the  same  knowing  smile. 

"  No,  not  now,  Mr.  Shallop,"  replied  the  stock  and 
money  broker,  cashing  his  clerk's  smile  at  sight,  with  an 
approving  nod ;  and  Mr.  Lang  ushered  the  tall,  slender 
gentleman  into  the  back  office. 

"  Karl,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  broker,  closing  the 
door  of  the  little  sanctum,  smiling,  and  pointing  to  a 
most  luxurious  lounge,  "  sit  down,  sit  down  ;  we  shall  be 
alone  here."  Taking  a  seat  opposite  him,  Mr.  Lang 
continued,  "  You  can,  as  I  have  said,  soon  make  yourself 
rich  in  this  country,  with  your  little  fortune  of  twenty 
thousand  dollars,  but,"  here  the  broker  puffed  two  or 
three  times  at  his  cigar,  "  but,  Karl,  let  me  recommend 
you  to  use  great  caution." 

"  George,"  said  the  tall,  slender  gentleman,  removing 
his  cigar  from  his  thin  lips,  "  George,  you  know  I  did 
not  come  to  America  to  get  rich.  I  sold  my  vineyard 
in  the  Rheinpfalz,  and  came  here  because  it  is  the  land 
of  liberty  —  the  home  of  Washington." 

George  Lang  fell  to  making  smoke  rings,  as  he 
thought  to  himself  how,  in  the  old  Burschen  days,  at 
the  University  of  Heideloerg,  he  had  talked  the  same 
talk  with  this  same  friend  and  fellow  student,  about  free- 
dom and  all  that,  and  joined  voices  with  him,  too,  in 


20  GLOVERSON 

those  sentimental  melodies  of  the  Fatherland.  Then, 
with  one  fell  breath,  blowing  destruction  to  all  the  smoke- 
rings  he  had  made,  he  wondered  how  he  could  have  been 
—  how  any  one  can  be  —  so  visionary  as  to  refuse  to 
turn  an  honest  penny. 

"  Karl  von  Schrnerling/'^said  the  broker,  looking  his 
old  friend  curiously  in  the  face,  "  you  are  a  walking 
student-song  —  a  tangible  spirit  of  the  Beer-Kneipe. 
You  always  did  speak  better  English  than  I  do,  so  I 
don't  see  that  your  hunting  tour  across  the  Plains,  or 
your  life  in  the  bustle  of  New  York  has  done  you  the 
least  bit  of  good.  You  are  a  dreamer,  and  you  know  it." 

"  Be  what  I  may,  George,  I  am  no  longer  a  von.  I 
have  left  my  title  with  my  barony.  Who  would  have  a 
coronet  in  the  country  of  Franklin,  unless  it  were,  like 
his,  wrought  of  thunder-bolts  ?  " 

"  Karl  Schmerling,  then  !  "  The  laugh  which  accom- 
panied this  exclamation  was  just  a  little  forced  on  the 
part  of  Lang.  "  But  citizen  Schmerling  would  not  wish 
his  money  to  lie  idle  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Karl,  with  great  frankness,  "  and  it  has  not 
been  idle,  only  since  I  brought  it  to  California.  I  was 
very  glad  to  get  six  per  cent,  a  year  of  a  responsible 
house  in  New  York.  I  could  have  got  only  four  per 
cent,  in  Frankfort-on-the-Main." 

"  Why,  my  dear  fellow  ! "  exclaimed  the  broker,  and  a 
sudden  light  spread  over  his  countenance  at  this  inno- 
cence in  monetary  affairs.  There  is  no  generous  rain 
behind  the  summer  lightning  of  some  climates;  and 
there  was  something  peculiarly  dry  and  cheerless  in  the 
bright  black  eyes  of  George  Lang  at  this  moment. 
"  Why,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  should  not 
be  contented  with  less  than  two  per  cent,  a  month  in  this 
land  of  gold." 


AND   HIS   SILENT   PARTNERS.  21 

"  Per  centum,  George,  is  a  piece  of  Latin  that  always 
bores  me.  I  don't  think  you  will  find  it  in  Horace,  or 
anywhere  out  of  an  author  of  the  Brazen  Age." 

At  the  word  "  Brazen,"  the  stock  broker  started 
slightly.  It  might  have  been  at  the  shadow  of  his  own 
thought,  however,  as  he  saw  no  substance  for  his  appre- 
hension in  the  face  of  his  friend ;  or  could  it  have  been 
the  quick  knock  at  the  door  which  startled  Mr.  Lang  ? 

"  Reg'lar  down  !  Opposition  gone  up  ten  !  "  exclaimed 
Mr.  Nelson  Shallop,  who,  having  given  the  quick  knock 
aforesaid,  had  stuck  his  bristling  head  through  a  crack 
in  the  door.  9 

"  What  ?  Anything  heard  from  the  steamer  ? "  and 
the  broker  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  The  revenue  cutter's  returned,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Shal- 
lop, in  his  brisk,  business  way,  "  and  has  seen  or  heard 
nothing  of  her." 

"  Is  all  our  stock  in  the  Regular  line  sold  ?  "  demanded 
Lang. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Sell  it  for  anything  you  can  get.  Here  Shallop, 
wait  a  moment,"  and  Lang  lowered  his  voice,  so  that  his 
clerk  only  heard  him  say,  "  keep  all  the  Opposition  we 
have.  Needn't  buy  any  more;  we  have  enough." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  and  Mr.  Shallop  was  gone. 

"  It  is  a  sad  thing  to  think  of,"  observed  the  broker, 
seating  himself  opposite  Schmerling  again,  "  but  you  see 
this  missing  steamer  is  of  the  Regular  line,  and,  if  she  is 
really  lost,  a  great  deal  of  money  will  be  made  on -the 
stock  of  the  Opposition  line." 

"  I  hope  she  will  not  be  lost,"  rejoined  Karl. 

"  vSo  do  I,"  said  Lang. 

There  was  more  smoking  than  talking  done  for  a  little 


22  GLOYERSOX 

while  now.  Mr.  George  Lang  was  the  first  to  break  the 
silence. 

"  There  are  many  ways  of  making  money  very  fast 
here,"  he  said,  —  "  the  mines,  for  instance.  You  have 
certainly  heard,  Karl,  of  the  sudden  fortunes  made  in 
California  mines.  Now,  there  is  our  mine,  the  *  Dor- 
cas,'—  I  could  probably  get  you  a  chance  in  it." 

"  Yes,  yes,  George ;  but  mining  seems  so  unnatural  to 
me  —  uprooting  God*s  beautiful  earth.  I  cannot  help 
connecting  it  with  the  work  of  evil  genfi.  There  is  cer- 
tainly something  demoniac  about  it." 

"  But  the  '  Dorcas '  mine,  Karl,  the  '  Dorcas '  "— 

There  came  another  quick  knock,  and  Mr.  Shallop, 
thrusting  his  head  and  one  hand  through  a  small  open- 
ing in  the  door  of  the  private  office,  said  in  his  rasping 
voice,  "  Here's  a  dispatch,  sir." 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Lang  ;  "  the  steamer  telegraphed  ?  " 

"  Guess  not,"  was  Mr.  Shallop's  knowing  reply,  as  he 
retired. 

George  Lang  tore  open  the  envelope,  and,  hurriedly 
reading  the  contents,  passed  the  dispatch  over  to  Mr. 
Schmerling.  It  contained  the  startling  information  from 
the  manager  of  the  "  Dorcas "  mine,  that  a  ledge  had 
been  "  struck  "  so  amazingly  rich  as  to  treble  the  value 
of  the  original  stock. 

It  was  rather  fortunate  for  the  broker  that  Karl 
Schmerling  was  not  acquainted  with  the  hand-writing 
of  Mr.  Nelson  Shallop ;  for  there  was  a  striking  resemb- 
lance between  the  business  calligraphy  of  the  dispatch, 
and  that  of  the  Sales-book  in  the  front  office.  But  Karl, 
knowing  nothing  of  this,  of  course  congratulated  his  old 
friend  on  this  good  fortune.  Whereupon  Lang  volun- 
teered the  further  information  that  he  had  bought  into 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  23 

the  "  Dorcas,"  only  the  week  before,  that  he  hoped  soon 
to  have  a  controlling  influence  in  the  company,  and  that 
he  would  then  give  Schmerling  an  opportunity  to  in- 
crease his  little  fortune  of  twenty  thousand  dollars. 

"  You  remember,  George,"  said  Schmerling,  knocking 
the  ashes  from  his  cigar,  and  changing  his  position  on 
the  lounge,  "  you  remember  the  words  of  our  German 
song,  '  Where  wine  grows  there  is  life.'  Now,  I  have 
been  thinking  seriously  of  buying  a  vineyard  in  the  So- 
noma Valley,  and  of  raising  up  a  little  Fatherland  of  my 
own." 

"  Do  you  intend  to  visit  Sonoma  ?  "  asked  Lang,  as 
he  threw  himself  on  to  a  settee  close  by,  much  easier  in 
body  than  in  mind. 

"  Yes,  and  I  should  like  to  have  you  go  with  me.  Can 
you  go  ?  " 

George  felt  easier  now. 

"  I  cannot  leave  my  business  just  at  present,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  shall  take  a  vacation  in  two  or  three  weeks.  In 
the  meantime,  I  will  promise  you  amusement  here  in  the 
city.  You  shall  go  with  me  and  see  a  young  lady  friend 
of  mine,  who,  like  yourself,  is  an  enthusiast  in  music  ; 
you  shall  join  our  Philharmonic  Society  ;  in  fact,  I  will 
give  you  plenty  to  do." 

"Under  these  circumstances,"  Karl  rejoined,  rising 
and  taking  one  or  two  turns  about  the  room,  "  I  think  I 
can  wait  for  you."  Then  he  paused  by  the  side  of  the 
recumbent  George,  striking  with  his  cane  at  a  cloud 
of  smoke  which  had  preceded  the  stock  broker's  last 
friendly  eruption.  Puffing  silently  at  the  stump  of  his 
own  cigar,  Karl  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed  straight  before 
him,  the  smoke-wreaths  festooning  the  avenue  through 
which  his  thoughts  went  out  into  revery. 


24  GLOVERSON 

Tall,  slender,  and  graceful,  too,  Karl  Schmerlmg  was 
a  pretty  picture  of  his  type  of  manhood.  In  his  light 
German  hair,  and  the  veiled  ruddiness  of  his  transparent 
complexion,  taken  together  with  the  mild  dreaminess  of" 
his  eyes,  there  was  something  suggestive  of  the  mellow 
tints,  and  hazy  repose  of  an  autumn  scene  in  his  own 
Rhine -land. 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  you  are  thinking  of, 
Karl,"  observed  George  Lang,  after  watching  him  atten- 
tively a  few  moments.  "  You  are  probably  wondering 
how  it  is  that  the  smoke  gets  whiter  as  your  cigar  gets 
shorter." 

"  No,  I  wasn't ;  but,  now  you  remind  me  of  it,  what  is 
your  theory  ?  " 

"  Why,  it's  the  poetry  of  the  weed  !  Don't  blessings 
brighten  as  they  take  their  flight  ?  " 

"  And  you  remind  me  of  another  thing,"  Karl  added, 
laughing  ;  "  that  you  used  to  write  poetry.  You  remem- 
ber how  I  like  it.  The  intellects  of  men  have  always 
marched  grandest  to  rhythm." 

The  broker  shook  his  head  and  smoked  vigorously. 
"This  man  is  worse  than  he  was  at  the  University," 
thought  Lang  to  himself.  "  As  still  as  you  keep  it,  my 
sly  saint,  you  have  had  a  disastrous  affair  with  some  one 
of  your  own  peasant  women ;  or,  may  be  he  has  only  been 
disappointed  in  love  with  some  worthier  object,"  added 
Mr.  Lang,  correcting  himself.  "  At  any  rate,  no  grown 
man  is  really  and  honestly  sentimental  who  has  not 
sinned  or  been  sinned  against ! " 

And  it  may  be  here  remarked  that  Mr.  Lang,  to  his 
dying  day,  believed  himself  right  in  his  theory  about  his 
friend;  vacillating  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  foregoing 
explanations,  as  to  him  for  the  moment  seemed  justifi- 


AND   HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  25 

able  by  the  strange  talk  or  conduct  of  Schmerling. 
There  are  many  dreamy  people  in  Germany  and  out  of 
it,  whose  minds  have  not  been  unhinged  by  any  great 
shame  or  sorrow.  If,  however,  a  belief  in  one  or  the 
other  of  Mr.  Lang's  suppositions  will  add  to  the  better 
understanding  of  Karl,  the  philosophical  reader  is  wel- 
come to  it.  Such  as  Schmerling  was  in  California,  he 
will  appear  to  you  in  these  pages.  What  happened  to 
him  elsewhere  is  not  within  the  scope  of  this  history. 

Karl  laid  his  hand  upon  the  broker's  shoulder,  "  Come 
now,  George,  own  that  you  still  write  poetry.  You  can 
not  have  forgotten.  It  is  part  of  the  soul,  you  know.  In 
y6ur  own  despite,  you  must  have  reveries  that  are  un- 
written poems." 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  Karl,  I  have  not  lately  had  much 
time  for  that  sort  of  thing ;  but,"  continued  Lang,  spring- 
ing to  his  feet,  "  I  have  an  idea  —  a  plot,  in  fact,  by 
which  we  can  take  a  young  lady  friend  of  mine  by  storm. 
You  improvise  music,  you  know,  and  sing  like  —  like 
Saint  Cecilia.  You  shall  bring  my  angel  down  to  me, 
to  me,  you  understand,  and  not  to  yourself." 

"  Well,"  said  Karl,  laughing,  "  how  is  this  all  to  be 
done  ? " 

"  Why,  you,  my  improvisatore,  are  to  get  up  something 
new  for  the  evening  of  our  visit." 

"  Then,  George,  you  write  me  a  song  and  I'll  sing  it." 

u  To  your  own  music  ?  " 

« I  will  try." 

"  Done,"  said  Lang,  preparing  to  start  for  the  Board 
of  Brokers.  "  What  shall  be  our  subject  ?  " 

"  Friendship,"  exclaimed  Karl,  shaking  hands  as  they 
parted,  after  the  kindly  German  manner  of  other  days. 

"  Friendship  it  is,"  said  George  Lang. 


26  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    SOCIAL    EVENING. 

AMOS  DIXON  used  every  means  he  could  think  of  to 
allay  the  fears  of  Aunty  Owen.  No  steamer  of  that 
line,  he  assured  the  poor  old  lady,  had  ever  been  lost  in 
a  storm.  If  the  missing  ship  had  been  burned,  she 
would  have  been  seen  or  heard  from  somewhere  along 
the  coast.  She  had  probably  broken  a  shaft,  etc.,  etc. 

"  Well,  it  must  be  so,"  Aunty  Owen  would  say ;  "  it 
must  be  so,  and  —  and  Henry  is  coming." 

She  always  watched  Amos  from  the  door  of  the  little 
brown  house,  and,  when  he  was  out  of  sight,  cried  a 
great  deal  more  than  the  honest  fellow  imagined.  Amos, 
himself,  for  all  the  cheerful  face  he  put  on  in  her  pres- 
ence, spent  most  of  his  time  out  of  business  hours  in 
inquiry  about  the  missing  steamer.  At  last  his  anxiety 
became  almost  unbearable.  One  evening,  after  leaving 
Aunty  Owen,  he  went  to  his  own  little  room  and  made  a 
hasty,  careless  toilette.  On  the  street  again  he  bent  his 
steps  toward  what  he  "termed  the  elegant  house.  "  I 
must  get  my  mind  off  this  thing,"  thought  Amos.  "  I 
will  go  and  call  on  Miss  Garr." 

Proceeding  down  Folsom  Street,  a  long  train  of 
mute  ratiocination  ended  audibly  thus :  "  She  has  said 
she  would  be  glad  to  see  me  ; "  and  hearing  music  in  the 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  27 

mansion  to  which  he  was  destined,  he  continued,  "  In 
there  I  shall  surely  find,  at  least,  temporary  relief  for 
these  weary  thoughts." 

A  servant  answered  the  ring  of  Amos  at  the  door  of 
the  "  elegant  house." 

"  Is  Miss  Garr  in  ?  " 

"  Miss  Garr,  1  believe,  is  here  this  evening." 

"  I  wish  to  see  her." 

Noticing  a  slight  hesitation  on  the  part  of  the  servant, 
Amos  gave  his  name,  coupled  with  a  request  to  be  shown 
into  a  suitable  place  of  waiting. 

With  some  little  trepidation  the  servant  threw  open 
the  drawing-room  door,  and  announced :  "  Mr.  Dixon  ! " 

Four  faces  were  immediately  turned  towards  the  vis- 
itor. The  only  one  of  them  that  Amos  remembered 
ever  to  have  seen  before  —  namely,  that  of  Miss  Sophia 
Garr  —  mantled  with  a  very  deep  blush.  That  lady, 
however,  arose  and  shook  hands  with  Amos,  who  stood 
considerably  embarrassed  by  the  manifest  sensation  his 
entrance  had  caused. 

"  Miss  Clayton,"  said  she,  "  let  me  introduce  to  you 
my  friend,  Mr.  Dixon ;  Mr.  Lang  and  Mr.  Schmerling, 
Mr.  Dixon." 

Amos  was  seated.  A  lull  pervaded  the  whole  com- 
pany, whose  music  and  laughter,  a  few  moments  ago,  had 
reached  even  the  street.  Amos  observed  this,  and  could 
not  resist  the  conclusion  that  he  was  the  cause.  He  felt, 
too,  just  a  little  piqued  at  such  a  reception,  after  such 
urgent  invitation. 

"  Well,  Miss  Garr,"  he  said,  but  addressing  the  whole 
company,  "  I  have  taken  the  earliest  opportunity  to 
comply  with  your  earnest  and  friendly  request  to  call 
upon  you." 


28  GLOVERSON 

Another  marked  sensation. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Dixon,"  was  Miss  Garr's  un- 
easy response,  "  but  there  is  an  unfortunate  mistake 
here." 

"  Mistake  !  How,  Miss  Garr  ?  "  demanded  Amos,  his 
indignation  rising  at  such  disingenuousness. 

"I  do  not  live  here,  Mr.  Dixon;  this  is  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton's." 

"  Why,  I  certainly  accompanied  you  to  this  very  door 
last  Saturday  afternoon." 

"  Certainly  you  did,  Mr.  Dixon.  I  come  here  three 
times  a  week  to  give  Miss  Clayton  private  lessons  in 
French,  and  I  happen  to  be  here,"  continued  Miss 
Sophia  Garr,  with  some  flourish,  "  I  happen  to  be  here, 
to-night,  at  the  invitation  of  my  pupil,  whose  mother  and 
I  were  old  friends  in  the  State  of  Maine." 

"  Very  well,  Miss  Garr  "  — 

"  I  beg  your  forgiveness,  Mr.  Dixon.  I  will  explain 
to  you  privately  how  I  happened  to  forget  to  give  you 
my  present  address." 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  —  I  —  I  beg  your  pardon," 
stammered  Amos,  as  he  arose  to  go. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Miss  Clayton,  approaching  Amos  with 
a  grace,  dignified  and  very  lovely  withal,  "  no,  Mr. 
Dixon.  Miss  Garr  was  here  when  Mr.  Lang  came 
to  herald  the  arrival  of  his  old  friend  and  fellow  student. 
She  was  then  invited  to  be  present  at  the  musical  treat 
we  are  having  this  evening ;  and  Mr.  Dixon,  as  her 
friend,  will  also  do  me  the  favor  to  share  it  with  us." 

"  Really,  I  think  I'd  better  not,  really." 

"  I  insist,"  broke  in  Miss  Garr ;  "  or,  that  is,  I  almost 
insist  on  your  remaining.  I  am  so  anxious  to  explain 
away  this  sad,  sad  mistake." 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  29 

"  You  would  not,  Mr.  Dixon,"  added  Miss  Clayton, "  put 
such  a  slight  upon  the  musical  abilities  of  Mr.  Schmer- 
ling,  as  to  leave  before  you  have  heard  him." 

There  was  a  music  in  the  voice,  which  said  this,  that 
had  more  to  do  in  persuading  the  confused  Amos  to  re- 
main, than  anything  he  expected  from  the  elegant 
languor  of  Schmerling,  whom  he  now  regarded  for  the 
first  time.  It  would  not  be  a  pretty  use  of  language  to 
say  that  Amos  was  charmed  by  this  young  lady,  as 
smaller  animals  are  said  to  be  charmed  by -very  hateful- 
looking  reptiles ;  nor  would  it  be  true.  Because  it  was 
the  kindly  tones  of  Miss  Clayton's  voice,  alone,  that  set 
the  foolish  fellow  to  thinking  of  the  bird  song  he  had 
heard  on  the  lawn,  that  Saturday  afternoon  ;  and  that  — 
but  there  is  no  use  of  trying  to  explain  it ;  he  would 
have  done  almost  anything  that  voice  had  told  him  to  do. 
And  before  we  blame  him,  we  must  consider  that  he  had 
not  been  out  in  company  very  much,  and  did  not  know 
before,  that  there  were  such  voices  in  the  world. 

Miss  Clayton  looked  exceedingly  pleased,  when  Amos 
was  again  seated.  She  had  been  impressed  with  a 
natural  honesty  about  him.  She  knew  he  would  have 
gone  away  sadly  mortified  and  grieved  at  the  inno- 
cent faux  pas  the  schoolmistress  had  led  him  into  ;  and 
she  had  determined  that  he  should  go  away,  feeling  just 
the  contrary.  In  a  word,  Amos  Dixon  had  excited  the 
pity  of  Amelia  Clayton. 

The  sallow  face  of  Miss  Sophia  Garr  now  wore  a 
dubious  expression.  She  was  debating  with  herself 
whether,  after  this,  she  would  not  have  to  give  up  the 
"  rising  young  man,"  and  commence  "  prospecting  "  in 
some  other  direction.  Her  face  grew  calmer,  as  she 
thought  of  the  line  of  defense  she  would  make  before 


80  GLOVERSON 

Amos  —  and  did  make  that  very  evening.  The  fact  is, 
Miss  Garr  had  for  some  time  nursed  a  scheme  by  which 
she  expected  to  be  invited  to  make  the  elegant  house 
her  permanent  home.  The  illness  of  Mrs.  Clayton, 
Amelia's  mother,  had  unfortunately  interposed  a  barrier 
to  the  speedy  fulfillment  of  Miss  Sophia's  plans ;  and 
Mr.  Dixon  had  called,  before  Miss  Garr  had  been  in- 
vited to  take  possession  of  the  home  she  coveted.  Amelia 
knew  nothing  of  the  domestic  blessing  thus  preparing  for 
her ;  so,  of  course,  it  would  be  improper  to  make  the 
explanation  to  Mr.  Dixon  in  her  hearing  ;  and  hence  the 
very  distressingly  embarrassing  condition  of  Miss  Garr 
in  the  foregoing  scene. 

It  is  true  that  the  schoolmistress  had  no  definite  idea 
as  yet,  how  she  should  secure  a  lodging  in  the  elegant 
house.  But  she  hoped  she  would,  and  that  was  enough 
for  her.  That  was  this  prim  maiden's  idiosyncrasy. 
What  she  hoped  she  believed.  "  Hope,"  she  would  say 
to  her  old  friend  from  the  State  of  Maine,  Mrs.  Clayton, 
"  hope  is  worth  twenty-five  dollars  a  month ;  and  my 
dear  Mrs.  Clayton,  many  of  us  less  favored  beings  have 
scarcely  any  other  income." 

All  this  time,  George  Lang  had  sat  upon  a  sofa  in 
polite  silence  ;  his  handsome  figure  posed,  so  as  to  dis- 
play the  faultless  set  of  his  waistcoat  and  the  graceful 
hanging  of  his  watch  chain,  —  for  Mr.  Lang  always  re- 
garded these  little  effects  in  the  presence  of  ladies.  His 
black  eyes  were  rarely  so  sparkling,  being  full,  then,  of 
repressed  merriment ;  and  it  was  not  usual,  even,  for  him 
so  to  finger  his  irreproachable  moustache,  for  he  was,  of 
a  truth,  pulling  it  with  all  his  force  —  drawing  out  pain 
that  he  might  keep  in  laughter. 

At  the  turn  of  affairs,  brought  about  by  Amelia's  gen- 


AND  HIS  SILENT   PARTNERS.  31 

erous  diplomacy,  the  scene  was  no  longer  amusing  to  Mr. 
Lang.  So  he  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence  :  "  Now, 
Karl,  give  us  that  '  Moonlight  Sonata '  of  Beethoven, 
which,  you  know,  is  only  yourself  done  into  music." 

Schmerling  was  very  thankful  for  this  timely  sugges- 
tion. He  had  felt  anything  but  merriment  at  the  discom- 
fiture of  Amos.  Although  ignorant  of  it  at  the  time,  Mr. 
Dixon  had.  indeed,  made  a  friend  in  the  warm-hearted 
German.  Karl  Schmerling,  moreover,  had  that  vulgar 
way,  so  rare  with  fashionable  young  ladies,  of  going  to 
the  piano,  when  he  really  knew  he  was  wanted  there, 
without  being  asked  twenty  times.  Miss  Sophia  Garr 
observed  this  reprehensible  conduct  on  the  part  of  the 
visitor,  and  vented  her  sense  -of  the  impropriety,  sotto 
voce,  in  the  kind  of  French  which  she  had  learned  at  the 
Female  Academy  in  Maine,  and  now  taught  to  Miss 
Clayton,  at  one  dollar  per  hour. 

"  C'est  hieng  cooreoo,  ce  Allymand!  " 

This  confidential  elegance  was  lost  on  the  young  lady 
to  whom  it  was  addressed.  Miss  Clayton  was  already 
absorbed  in  the  divine  harmonies  of  the  great  blind  Seer. 
Karl  was  a  musician  in  his  own  despite.  All  instruments 
were  nearly  alike  to  him.  It  was  another  way  he  had 
of  talking.  Music  was  the  best  expression  of  his  na- 
ture. 

Indeed,  the  composition  was  not  new  to  Amelia  Clay- 
ton ;  she  herself,  in  fact,  had  studied  it.  But  there  was 
something  in  it  to-night,  she  had  never  heard  before. 
There  was  something  new  in  it.  She  could  read  it  now 
as  it  really  was  and  is  —  a  transcription  of  the  great 
Dreamer's  soul.  The  music  took  complete  possession  of 
player  and  hearers  ;  and  the  delicious  grief  of  the  dead 
composer  lived  again. 


32  GLOVERSON 

"  Beautiful,  beautiful !  "  exclaimed  every  voice  at  once, 
as  Karl  finished,  turned  about  on  the  piano  stool,  and 
faced  the  company. 

In  the  lull  which  naturally  succeeded,  Miss  Sophia 
Garr  thought  she  would  patronize  the  musician  who  had 
made  such  an  impression.  She  would  condescend  to 
show  him  that  she  spoke  French. 

"  Parley  voo  Frangsay  ?  Commong  se  appel  $a  ?  "  she 
asked,  all  smiles. 

Karl  had  spoken  French,  as  he  had  English,  from 
childhood ;  but  he  failed  to  detect  the  language  of  Fene- 
lon,  in  the  incognito  of  Miss  Garr's  pronunciation. 

"  What,  madam  ?  "  said  he,  bending  over  the  better  to 
hear. 

"  Commong  se  appel  $a,  la  moosique  ?  " 

"  No,  madam,  I  do  not  play  it." 

The  lamentable  ignorance  of  Karl  had  lost  him  the 
good  impression  he  had  just  made  on  Miss  Garr,  and  she 
was  silent. 

Amos  now  propounded  a  series  of  friendly  questions 
to  Schmerling ;  and  the  two  were  soon  engaged  in  the 
usual  conversation  of  old  Californians  with  new-comers  ; 
ending  generally  in  certain  wise  observations  in  mete- 
orology and  climatology,  and  in  the  old  Californian's 
learning  how  the  new  Californian  is  pleased  with  Cali- 
fornia. 

In  the  mean  time,  George  Lang  and  Amelia  Clayton, 
seated  together  on  the  sofa,  are  having  a  little  talk  of 
their  own,  commencing  thus  upon  the  part  of  the  last 
named :  — 

"  How  beautifully  he  plays,  how  beautifully  !  I  don't 
think  I  ever  saw  a  live  baron  before." 

"  Whist,"  said  Mr.  Lang,  with  a  deprecatory  motion 


AND   HIS   SILENT   PARTNERS.  33 

of  that  particular  hand  on  which  he  wore  his  solitaire 
diamond  ring.  "  He  must  not  know  that  I  have  told 
you  he  is  a  baron.  He  has  abandoned  his  title,  and  is 
strangely  sensitive  on  the  subject.  Why,  I  would  as 
soon  have  him  know  that  I  told  you  of  his  engagement 
to  a  young  lady  of  rank  in  his  own  country.  Well, 
there ! "  exclaimed  the  broker,  apparently  much  con- 
fused. 

"  Then  he  is  engaged  ?  "  demanded  Amelia. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Miss  Clayton,"  said  Mr.  Lang,  simu- 
lating still  greater  confusion,  "it  seems  to  me^as  if  I 
could  not  keep  anything  from  you,  so  please  do  not  ask 
me  to  betray  the  secret  of  my  friend." 

Mr.  Lang  congratulated  himself  that  he  had  given  out 
Karl  as  engaged  and  not  married,  since  she,  whom  he 
was  deceiving,  might  some  time  have  occasion  to  ask 
Schmerling  about  his  wife.  Her  delicacy  would  now 
prevent  her  speaking  to  him  of  his  affianced.  George 
Lang  further  congratulated  himself  that  he  understood 
and  could  manage  Miss  Clayton  so  well. 

She  looked  at  the  piano,  then  at  Karl,  and  repeated, 
as  if  thinking  aloud :  "  How  beautifully  he  plays,  how 
beautifully!" 

"  And  sings,  too,"  added  George. 

"  Do  sing  something,  then.  Mr.  Schmerling,"  said 
Amelia,  in  a  louder  voice. 

"  Yes,  Karl,  give  us  your  song." 

"  You  mean  your  song,  George.  You  have  set  the 
memories  of  our  boyhood  into  poetry  ;  and  I  have  only 
fitted  your  beautiful  words  to  a  melody.  You  are  the 
Benvenuto  Cellini,  who  wrought  the  master-piece ;  I 
merely  placed  it  in  the  cabinet." 

"  Well,  have  it  your  own  way ;  only  poetry  is  a  little 


34 


GLOVERSON 


out  of  my  line  now."     And  George  Lang  did  not  look  at 
Amelia  Clayton,  for  he  knew  she  was  looking  at  him. 

Amos  Dixon  probably  did  not  notice  that  the  forego- 
ing panegyric  had  been  artfully  extorted  from  the  gener- 
ous nature  of  Schmerling.  He  was  too  busily  engaged 
in  stealing  glances  of  admiration  at  Amelia,  even  while 
Miss  Garr  was  spreading  her  apologies  and  her  mining 
implements  before  him.  He  was  thinking  how  good  and 
lovely  Miss  Clayton  was,  and  wishing  if  there  are  such 
people  in  society,  that  he  had  gone  into  society  a  great 
deal  more  than  he  had ;  and  thinking,  in  a  word,  of  any- 
thing but  Mr.  Lang  and  his  arts.  Still,  Mr.  Dixon 
could  not  help  remarking  a  difference  between  the  man- 
ner of  the  poet  and  that  of  the  musician;  there  was 
something  so  quiet  in  the  way  Mr.  Schmerling  ap- 
proached* and  seated  himself  at  the  piano,  and  com- 
menced playing  this  melody:  —  * 

Andante. 


\  This  song  is  also  published  in  sheet-music,  with  an  accompaniment 
for  the  piano-forte. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  35 

Then,  without  further  prelude,  Karl  began  the  fol- 
lowing — 

SONG  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

Friendship  is  the  perfect  living, 

Since  it  is  of  two  in  one: 
For  we  live  not,  if  we  love  not, 

Or  we  love  ourselves  alone. 

Lightest  sunshine  leans  on  shadow, 

In  its  golden  alchemy ; 
And  the  star-lit  sky  of  even 

Shares  its  jewels  with  the  sea. 

So  our  grief,  if  we  but  share  it, 

With  a  loving  breast  and  true, 
Turns  its  stony  weight  of  sorrow 

To  a  golden  joy  for  two. 

Life  is  double;  dust  and  spirit; 

Ever  two,  forever  one : 
Walking  in  the  slanting  sunlight; 

Casting  shades  beyond  the  sun. 

Doubled  is  the  joy  divided: 

Friendship  is  the  arch  complete  — 

Is  the  rainbow  arch  and  prism, 

Where  the  rays  of  gladness  meet ; 

Meet  and  scatter,  many-colored, 

O'er  the  darkness  of  our  way, 
Light  and  beauty  and  the  promise 

Of  to-morrow  to  to-day. 

Of  course,  many  compliment*  followed,  as  there  al- 
ways should,  after  any  performance  in  a  polite  drawing- 
room. 

"•  And  you  wrote  this  song,  Mr.  Lang  ?  "  asked  Amelia. 

"  Yes,"  answered  he,  in  evident  satisfaction  at  the 
impression  made,  and  his  eyes,  meeting  those  of  Miss 
Clayton,  fell.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  have  the  honor." 


36  GLOVERSON 

"  It  has  a  pretty  vein  of  poetry,"  observed  the  metallic 
arid  discriminating  Miss  Garr. 

"  Pretty  vain  of  poetry,"  echoed  Amos  Dixon,  who 
really  thought  he  must  say  something ;  the  word  "  vein," 
being  spelled  above,  as  it  sounded  to  one  or  two  of  the 
company  at  that  moment.  The  fact  is,  the  voice  of 
Amelia  and  the  memory  of  the  bird  song,  which  he  had 
heard  on  the  lawn,  had  become  so  confused  in  his  mind, 
that  Mr.  Dixon  had  been  listening  only  to  her  part  of 
the  conversation. 

"  But  really,"  said  Miss  Clayton,  instantly  distracting 
attention  from  Amos,  "  how  shall  I  sufficiently  praise  your 
composition,  Mr.  Schmerling  ?" 

"  By  praising  the  words,"  replied  Karl.  "  Such  verses 
set  themselves  to  music.  In  this  instance,  it  was  merely 
carrying  out  the  spirit  of  the  song.  The  music  is  only 
the  necessary  double  of  the  words.  If  I  had  succeeded, 
the  result  would  have  been  a  perfect  friendship  between 
trochees  and  quavers." 

"  Yet,  Mr.  Schmerling,"  Amelia  rejoined,  "  I  should 
have  attributed  the  words  to  you,  rather  than  to  Mr. 
Lang,  if  I  ha*d  not  been  told  to  the  contrary." 

"  Indeed  !  "  thought  Lang,  slightly  changing  his  position 
on  the  sofa,  "  I  brought  this  fellow  here  to  show  me  off, 
not  to  take  all  the  honors  !  " 

"Why,  Miss  Clayton?"  asked  Karl. 

"There  is  something  so  Germanesque  about  the 
words." 

"  Germanesque  !  "  repeated  Karl.  "  I  suppose  I  might 
take  it  as  a  compliment  to  my  nation,  if  I  did  not  think 
it  an  injustice  to  your  own.  Americanesque,  you  should 
rather  call  it.  They  are  not  all  wooden  nutmegs  that 
grow  about  your  country's  Castalia.  Witness  your  Bryant 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  37 

and  Hawthorne.  I  have  heard  people  call  them  Ger- 
manesque,  because,  forsooth,  they  do  not  write  like  Eng- 
lishmen or  Frenchmen.  No ;  they  are  the  true  types  of 
American  genius.  They  have  thrown  some  of  the  pur- 
ple haze  of  your  magnificent  autumns  about  your  lan- 
guage. What  you  call  Germanesque,  then,  is  nothing 
but  the  glorious  spirit  of  your  Indian  summers." 

Karl  had  no  sooner  finished  than  the  company  were 
startled  by  a  quick,  vigorous  ringing  at  the  door  bell. 

In  a  few  moments  after,  an  agitated-  voice  was  heard 
demanding  of  the  servant :  — 

"  Is  Mr.  George  Lang  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  servant. 

"  Where  ?  In  here  ?  "  and  the  stranger  —  a  crisp,  wea- 
zen-faced little  man,  with  a  cast  in  one  of  his  restless 
eyes  —  rushed  unannounced  into  the  parlor. 

George  Lang  had  arisen  at  the  mention  of  his  own 
name  by  a  familiar  voice,  and  now  demanded,  "  What's 
the  matter?" 

"Here,  read  that!"  said  the  little  man,  whom  the 
acute  reader  has  already  recognized  as  Mr.  Nelson  Shal- 
lop. 

Lang  endeavored  to  repress  his  own  feelings,  as  he 
»ead  the  paper  in  his  hand.  Looking  up  at  last,  he  said, 
as  composedly  as  he  could,  "  Why,  there  was  no  use  of 
getting  so  excited.  Miss  Clayton,  I  beg  pardon  for  the 
way  in  which  this  gentleman  has  ushered  himself  into 
your  drawing-room." 

"  Nothing  to  get  excited  about !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Shal- 
lop, forgetting  himself  in  his  emotion.  "  Why,  ypu  are 
worth  at  least  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  more  to-night, 
than  you  were  this  morning  ! " 


38  GLOVERSON 

"What  of  that,  sir?"  and  the  look  which  the  broker 
gave  his  clerk  was  not  pleasant  to  behold.  "  Karl,"  said 
Lang,  turning  to  Schmerling  with  a  smile,  "  Karl,  it  is 
only  another  dispatch  from  the  manager  of  the  '  Dorcas ' 
mine  ;  and,  ladies,"  added  Mr.  Lang,  continuing  his  smile 
for  the  benefit  of  Miss  Clayton  and  Miss  Garr,  but  look- 
ing chiefly  toward  the  latter,  "  and,  ladies,  will  you  ever 
excuse  this  unfortunate  intrusion  of  my  business,  here, 
of  all  places?  I  am  sorry,  however,  that  it  claims  my 
immediate  attention.  Besides,  we  are  all  anxious  about 
the  missing  steamer." 

Notwithstanding  this  speech,  there  was  something  like 
admired  disorder  in  the  breaking  up  of  the  company. 
George  Lang  did  not  wait  for  the  congratulations  of 
Schmerling,  but  followed  Shallop  hurriedly  into  the  hall. 
There  the  broker  and  his  clerk  began  an  excited  con- 
versation in  an  undertone,  which  they  continued  as  they 
reached  the  street.  Amos  and  Karl  were  thus  thrown 
together,  and  were  the  last  to  take  their  leave  of  the 
ladies  and  of  the  elegant  house. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  39 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    STEAMER. 

Messrs.  Lang  and  Shallop  were  nearly  a  block  in  ad- 
vance, as  Karl  and  Amos  passed  down  the  gravel  walk 
of  the  lawn.  At  the  gate  these  latter  gentlemen  met  a 
man  who  touched  his  hat  respectfully,  and  said:  "The 
shteamer  has  come  at  last,  surs ;  I'm  jist  going  to  till  my 
young  missus." 

"  The  steamer  come !  Where  did  you  hear  that  ? " 
asked  Amos,  with  an  eagerness  which  can  be  imagined. 

"  I  heard  it,  surs,  at  the  grocery  hard  by  on  the  corner 
beyont.  Every  one  bes  talking  of  the  shteamer,  surs," 
and  with  another  salute,  John,  the  Irish  coachman  to  the 
Claytons,  rushed  through  the  gate  arid  up  the  lawn. 

Amos  and  Karl  now  hastened  on  after  Lang  and  Shal- 
lop. Could  these  latter  have  heard  the  news  ?  Schmer- 
ling  thought  they  had,  or  why  were  they  walking  so  fast  ? 
for  Amos  and  Karl  gained  on  them  but  slowly. 

From  the  excited  groups  on  the  corners,  nothing  cer- 
tain could  be  learned ;  not  even  that  the  steamer  had 
been  heard  from.  They  seemed  to  be  assembled  to  ask 
questions  of  themselves  and  of  every  passer-by.  Amos 
was  resolved,  therefore,  to  learn  authoritatively  from  head- 
quarters, that  her  boy  was  safe,  before  he  communicated 
the  glad  tidings  to  Aunty  Owen.  So  the  two  young  gen- 
tlemen pressed  on,  catching  sight  of  the  broker  and  his 
clerk,  to  lose  them  again  in  the  crowds  upon  the  street. 


40  GLOVERSON 

*'  The  steamer,  the  steamer  I "  they  heard  on  every  hand, 
as  they  passed. 

The  scene  in  front  of  the  great  hotels  was  noisiest.  On 
the  bulletin  board  in  the  reading-room  of  the  Occidental, 
was  this  brief  announcement :  "  A  large  steamer,  sup- 
posed to  be  of  the  Regular  line,  is  coming  in  through 
the  Heads."  Was  it  the  ship  that  had  been  missing  or 
the  next  one  of  the  line,  now  overdue  ?  This  was  the 
theme  of  much  excited  dispute.  Some  were  condemning 
the  Company  for  keeping  back  the  news  ;  others  con- 
tended that  the  steamer  had  been  safe  all  the  time,  and 
that  the  whole  thing  was  a  "  bearing  "  stock  operation, 
etc.,  etc.  Amos  heard  these  things  and  shuddered,  as  he 
hurried  on.  The  enormity  hinted  at,  of  thus  trafficking 
with  the  fears  and  most  sacred  feelings  of  poor  human 
nature,  set  ^lim  to  thinking  more  than  ever,  of  the  pain- 
stricken  face  of  Aunty  Owen,  as  he  had  last  seen  it,  peer- 
ing after  him  from  the  door  of  the  little  brown  house. 

As  Dixon  and  S-chmerling  passed  along  Montgomery 
Street,  they  could  see  and  hear  in  the  distance  the  mov- 
ing throng  about  the  "  Alta"  newspaper  office,  clamoring 
for  news  —  a  black  mass  swaying  to  and  fro  in  the  dark- 
ness, with  now  and  then  a  face  or  form  brought  into 
jagged  relief  by  the  gas-light  streaming  from  the  win- 
dows. 

The  pace  of  Lang  and  Shallop  was  necessarily  slack- 
ened in  the  increasing  crowd,  now  all  making  in  one  di- 
rection—  toward  the  steamship  office.  Of  a  sudden, 
there  stood  before  the  two  gentlemen  just  named,  an  old 
woman,  seemingly  distracted  by  the  multitude  of  people, 
wringing  her  hands  and  saying,  — 

"  0  sirs  !  is  my  boy  Henry  come  ?  Is  Henry  coming  ?  " 

"  Madam,  we  have  no  time  to  talk  to  you  now,"  said 
Lang,  pushing  hurriedly  past  her. 


AND  HIS   SILENT   PARTNERS.  4l 

The  poor  creature  turned  her  eyes,  in  earnest  en- 
treaty, toward  Nelson  Shallop. 

"  Here,  old  woman,  take  that,"  observed  the  brisk  little 
man  of  business,  thrusting  her  a  very  small  coin,  "  take 
that,  and  move  on  —  move  on,  I  say." 

She  stood  riveted  to  the  spot,  stupefied,  as  Lang  and 
Shallop  disappeared ;  and  the  eager,  anxious  crowd, 
eddying  and  surging  around  her,  passed  on. 

"  Why  will  not  some  one,"  she  said,  when  speech  re- 
turned to  her,  "  why  will  not  some  one  tell  me  of  my 
poor  boy  ?  O  good  sirs  ! "  — 

"  Why,  Aunty  Owen  !" 

It  was  Amos  and  Karl.  "  Why,  Aunty  Owen  ! "  ex- 
claimed Amos  again,  "  what  are  you  doing  here,  alone, 
at  this  hour  of  the  night  ?  " 

"Is  Henry  come?"  was  her  only  answer  to  all  his 
\  questions. 

"  I  believe  so,  Aunty  Owen.  A  steamer  is  tele- 
graphed." 

Karl  saw  the  joyous  expression  on  the  old  mother's 
face,  and  well  nigh  broke  down  as  he  said,  "  Yes,  my  good 
madam,  we  are  just  going  to  get  news  of  your  son,  at  the 
steamship  office.  Mr.  Dixon  has  been  telling  me  all 
about  him  and  you.  You  shall  come  along  with  us.;  and 
then,  after  you  are  satisfied  that  your  Henry  is  safe,  why, 
one  of  us  will  see  you  back  home  again." 

"  God  bless  you,  sirs  ;  you  and  Mr.  Dixon  are  so  differ- 
ent from  the  others ;  and,  sirs,  and  Henry  is  coming  !" 

"  Yes,"  said  Amos,  "  now  let  us  go  to  meet  him  ; "  and 
he  walked  by  the  side  of  Aunty  Owen,  Karl  going  on  a 
little  ahead. 

As  they  neared  their  destination,  the  throng  became 
denser  and  noisier ;  and  Schmerling  was  lost  from  the 


4*2  GLOVERSON 

couple  he  was  leading.  Every  one  seemed  bent  on  get- 
ting through  the  door  of  the  office.  The  bulletin  board 
was  hidden  \n  the  darkness  and  the  jam  about  it.  Leading 
Aunty  Owen  a  little  apart,  Amos  left  her,  and  rushed 
back,  crowding  with  his  strong  shoulders  through  the 
densest  of  the  throng  toward  the  door. 
*  Arriving  finally  at  the  threshold,  he  came  in  contact 
with  a  man  as  strong  as  he,  pushing  himself  from  the 
office  to  the  street.  Amos,  looking  up  into  the  bloodless 
face  before  him,  recognized  it  as  that  of  the  agent,  whom 
he  had  questioned  so  often  about  the  missing  steamer. 

"  When  did  it  come  ?  "  asked  Amos,  breathless. 

"  Just  now." 

Amos  breathed  easier.  "  Thank  God,"  said  he,  as  he 
paused  in  his  struggle  with  the  crowd,  "  thank  God  for 
that ! " 

"  For  what?"  asked  the  agent  indignantly. 

"  That  the  steamer  has  come  at  last." 

"  The  steamer,  sir  ?     That  steamer  is  lost ! " 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  43 


CHAPTER  V. 

MISS    SOPHIA   GARR   DEVELOPS    INTO   AN   ANGEL. 

THE  yard  in  front  of  the  elegant  house  on  Folsom 
Street  was  bathed  in  the  early  sun.  And  that  was  the 
second  bath  it  had  had  this  morning,  fbr  the  gardener's 
hose  —  that  artificial  thunder-cloud  of  California  sum- 
mers —  had  already  shed  its  rain.  So,  now,  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  stream  of  sunlight,  that  passed  over  the  whole 
lawn,  diamond  drops  sparkled  from  their  hiding-places 
in  the  emerald  grass,  and  in  the  flower-beds  of  ruby  and 
amethyst.  Only  the  shadows  of  the  acacias  and  cypresses 
stood  out,  wading  slowly,  as  the  noon  approached,  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  flood  of  sunshine. 

The  residence  of  Mrs.  Clayton  was  such  a  mosaic  of 
architectural  ornamentation  as  is  found  oftener  in  Ameri- 
can cities  than  elsewhere.  There  was  nothing  bizarre  about 
it ;  yet  to  build  such  a  house  it  requires  a  republicanism  — 
not  puritanism,  understand  —  of  art.  In  the  matter  of 
ornamentation,  it  is  to  be  feared,  the  Ionic,  Doric,  By- 
zantine, and  Gothic,  in  castles,  cathedrals,  villas,  and 
cottages,  are  sometimes  made  "  free  and  equal ; "  and  those 
deemed  most  fit  are  elected  to  a  place  in  the  building ; 
which  then  becomes,  in  a  small  way,  and  with  a  sort  of 
property  qualification  of  questionable  taste,  the  House  of 
Representatives  of  all  architectures.  The  residence  of 
Mrs.  Clayton,  however,  partook  only  in  a  modest  degree 
of  these  fancies  in  stone.  Any  one  could  see  that  it  had 


44  GLOVERSON 

cost  much  money ;  and,  as  it  rose  out  of  its  beautiful 
grounds,  with  this  air  of  wealth  and  luxury  about  it,  we 
cannot,  on  the  whole,  quarrel  with  Mr.  Dixon  irrecon- 
cilably for  calling  it  an  "  elegant  house." 

It  had  been  built  by  the  late  Mr.  Clayton  very  much 
as  he  had  made  his  will ;  both  as  nearly  to  suit  himself 
as  he  could  get  an  architect  or  a  lawyer  to  do  for  him ; 
for  the  late  Mr.  Clayton  had  left  behind  him,  besides  an 
irreproachable  memory,  a  handsome  city  property  for  his 
widow  and  Amelia,  their  only  child. 

About  the  window-sills  of  the  front  parlor,  on  the  out- 
side, there  ran  slight  balustrades ;  and  with  these  the 
two  capacious  windows,  thrown  open  to  the  floor,  formed 
something  like  two  balconies.  Mrs.  Clayton  had  deter- 
mined ^not  to  be  sick  in  such  pleasant  weather,  and, 
especially,  when  such  exciting  news  was  afloat  in  the 
city.  She  had,  accordingly,  taken  her  place  at  one  of 
these  balconies.  Beside  her  sat  Miss  Sophia  Garr,  who 
had  not  gone  home  last  night  for  two  reasons  :  first,  Mr. 
Dixon,  in  the  excitement  of  departure,  had  forgotten  to 
solicit  the  privilege  of  accompanying  her ;  and,  second, 
it  was  her  duty  and  interest  to  see  as  much  as  possible 
of  Mrs.  Clayton,  her  "  old  friend  from  the  State  of 
Maine." 

At  the  other  balcony  sat  Miss  Amelia  Clayton.  She 
had  just  finished  reading  aloud  for  her  mother's  benefit, 
the  newspaper  account  of  the  wrecked  steamer.  They 
were  deeply  moved,  as  who  was  not  in  the  great  city  ? 
Even  Miss  Garr  spoke  of  the  terrible  disaster  in  an 
undertone.  Very  worldly  people  sometimes  have  a  great 
respect  for  death,  and  —  change  the  subject  as  soon  as 
they  can,  as  Miss  Garr  did. 

Amelia  now  sat  reading  again  to  herself  the  para- 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  45 

graph  in  the  account,  which  had  made  the  deepest  im- 
pression upon  her  mind.     It  was  this  :  — 

"  As  the  last  boat  was  leaving  the  wreck,  the  Second  Officer, 
who  commanded  it,  requested  a  young  man,  one  of  the  crew,  to 
get  aboard.  '  No,'  was  the  prompt  answer,  '  there  isn't  room 
for  me  and  this  helpless  old  man,  too.  Take  him,  and  I  will 
*  stand  my  chances  till  you  return.'  So  saying,  he  assisted  a  tot- 
tering old  man  over  the  bulwarks,  and  stood  cheering  the  de- 
parting boat  —  the  last  of  the  wreck.  The  over-laden  boat 
never  got  to  the  land,  or  back  to  the  sinking  ship.  No  one  who 
pushed  off  in  it  now  lives  to  tell  how  it  was  swallowed  up  by  the 
sea,  except  the  brave  Second  Officer,  to  whom  we  are  indebted 
for  many  of  the  foregoing  particulars.  In  ten  minutes  after  the 
small  boat  left  her,  the  steamer  went  down.  Nothing  since  has 
been  heard  of  the  gallant  young  man.  He  was  the  freight-clerk 
of  the  ill-fated  vessel,  and  his  name,  we  learn,  was  Henry 
Owen." 

Amelia  laid  the  paper  aside,  but  did  not  succeed  in 
banishing  the  painful  subject  from  her  mind  so  well  as 
her  mother  and  Miss  Garr  had  done  already ;  for  the  old 
friends  from  tbe  State  of  Maine  had  been  some  time  en- 
gaged in  a  low  confidential  talk  to  themselves.  Amelia 
might  have  been  pained  by  the  facility  and  alacrity  with 
which  these  ladies  transferred  their  attention  from  the 
dead  and  bereaved,  to  the  living  and  prosperous.  At 
any  rate,  her  thoughts  were  seemingly  following  her  dark 
gray  eyes  from  sunshine  into  shadow  —  that  is,  from  the 
lawn  into  the  faces  of  her  mother  and  Miss  Sophia  Garr. 
She  heard  enough  to  know  that  she  was  in  some  way 
connected  with  this  confidential  talk,  and  she  could  not 
see  why  Miss  Garr  should  be  taken  into  her  mothers 
confidence,  to  the  exclusion  of  herself. 

It  is  just  this  expression  of  uneasiness  that  best  aids 


46  GLOVERSON 

you  in  reading  Miss  Amelia  Clayton.  Her  nature  is  a 
placid  ocean ;  and  it  is  this  ground-swell  that  gives  an 
idea  of  the  depths  and  of  the  hidden  pearls. 

Not  every  one  is  thrilled  by  the  "  Transfiguration,"  in 
the  Vatican  ;  so  the  face  of  Amelia  Clayton  is  not  beauti- 
ful to  all.  The  beholder  must  have  a  soul  on  which  the 
beauty  can  be  projected,  else  no  image  will  be  mirrored. 
Hers  is  such  a  face,  for  instance,  as,  seen  by  a  dejected 
poet  in  a  strange  city,  would  make  him  glad  for  a  whole 
day.  She  is  none  of  your  romance  beauties.  You  have 
seen  such  faces  —  faces  that,  howsoever  your  sky  is  over- 
cast, look  out  at  you  through  the  clouds,  like  Raphael's 
angels. 

Amelia  is  taller  than  her  mother,  and  would  be  more 
graceful  were  their  ages  reversed.  Old  Californians  are 
rarely  pale  as  other  people  are  pale.  No  slight  illness 
can  wear  away  the  evidences  of  the  round  years  of 
almost  constant  wind  and  sunshine.  Health  may  re- 
cede from  the  face,  as  the  sea  from  its  old  places,  but 
the  tan  of  California  remains,  like  the  amber  on  the 
shores  of  Courland.  The  complexion  of  Mrs.  Clayton 
was  not  an  exception.  The  ancients  imagined  amber 
had  a  spirit.  The  face  of  Mrs.  Clayton  certainly  had 
one  ;  and  it  did  not  seem  angry,  when  Miss  Garr,  in 
her  low,  confidential  talk,  already  alluded  to,  recounted 
the  occurrences  of  the  night  before  ;  nor  even  at  certain 
wise  suggestions  on  the  part  of  that  prudent  spinster. 

"  Twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  as  you  say,  Sophia,  is 
not  a  bad  day's  earnings." 

Mrs.  Clayton  did  not  use  the  familiar  "  Sophia,"  in  ex- 
actly the  same  spirit  as  she  did,  when  they  were  equals 
in  the  State  of  Maine.  There  was  a  certain  patronage 
in  it  now  which  was  pleasurable  to  Mrs.  Clayton,  and 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  47 

which,  to  her  mental  self,  she  termed  magnanimity.  The 
two  ladies  were  not  alike,  but  congenial  ;  and  their 
congeniality  rested  upon  a  base  that  is  common  to  many 
friendships  in  this  world :  they  saw  wrong  alike  from  dif- 
ferent stand-points. 

"  Twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  yes ! "  exclaimed  Miss 
Garr  ;  "  and  it  is  perfectly  wonderful  what  fortunes  are 
made  in  this  new  business  of  mining  stocks." 

The  reader,  of  course,  is  wiser  than  Miss  Garr,  for  his 
opportunities  of  gaining  information  have  been  better. 
He  knows  well  enough  that  George  Lang  never  made 
that  money  out  of  the  "  Dorcas  "  mine  at  all,  but  in  a 
lucky  speculation  over  the  loss  of  a  great  steamship  and 
cargo,  valued  at  a  million  of  dollars,  and  of  lives  valued 
at  —  but  they  hadn't  much  to  do  with  the  appreciation 
or  the  stock  in  the  "  Opposition "  line ;  so,  really,  Mr. 
Lang  had  thought  very  little  about  them. 

"  And  you  invited  Mr.  Lang  to  come  again  soon,  Ame- 
lia ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Clayton,  in  a  louder  voice. 

"Yes,  mother,  I  wanted  you  to  hear  his  old  friend, 
Mr.  Schmerling,  sing  that  song." 

"Well,  you  need  not  have  been  so  particular  about 
that  Mr.  Schmerling's  coming." 

"  Why,  mother,  he  sings  and  plays  so  beautifully  !  " 

"  Nevertheless,  I  am  credibly  informed  "  —  her  au- 
thority could  have  been  no  one  but  Miss  Garr  —  "  that 
he  is  nothing  but  an  idle  Dutchman  ;  and  I  hardly  think 
it  is  just  the  thing  for  him  to  be  seen  often  visiting  in  a 
family  of  our  breeding." 

Amelia  thought  of  the  secret  she  was  to  keep,  that 
Schmerling  was  really  a  live  baron,  and  remarked 
coolly :  — 

"  It  seems  to  me  just  as  proper  for  Mr.  Schmerling  to 
come  here,  as  it  is  for  Mr.  Lang." 


4:8  GLOVERSON 

An  expressive  "  t)h !  "  from  the  mother  ;  an  expressive 
ditto  from  the  Maine  friend  —  not  audibly,  indeed,  but 
in  an  articulate  shrug  from  her  convulsive  shoulders. 
This  hitting  from  the  shoulder  at  the  mind,  was,  by  the 
way,  the  most  successful  of  Miss  Garr's  French  accom- 
plishments. 

'•Amelia,"  began  Mrs.  Clayton,  with  suppressed  ill- 
feeling,  "  you  know  what  some  girls  would  give  to  have 
the  attentions  from  Mr.  Lang  that  you  have.  He  is  con- 
sidered irresistible  by  every  one." 

"  I  know  that  he  is  generally  considered  so ;  but  as 
for  that "  —  and  Amelia  was  too  busy  arranging  the 
folds  of  her  morning-gown  to  finish  the  sentence. 

"  Now,  look  here,  Amelia,  don't  you  know  that  George 
Lang  wants  to  marry  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not,  mother,"  replied  the  young  lady,  shocked 
at  the  directness  of  the  question. 

"  Don't  you  know  that  he  loves  you  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  be  a  woman  and  not  know,  and  I  would 
not  be  a  true  woman  if  I  did  not  respect  any  one  that 
truly  loves  me."  Seeing,  from  her  mother's  face,  that 
this  did  not  satisfy  her,  Amelia  continued,  "  But  what 
right  have  I  to  use  a  secret  which  has  not  been  confided 
to  me  ?  " 

<;  Then  he  loves  you  ?  " 

"  Mother,  if  this  were  ever  a  proper  question,  now 
does  not  seem  the  occasion  to  ask  it.  Mr.  Lang  is  very 
good-looking  and  very  attractive,  but  —  but  he  never 
looks  me  in  the  eye." 

"  Humph  !     I  suppose  your  Dutchman  does." 

"  It  appears  to  me,  mother,  that  Mr.  Schmerling  could 
look  any  one  in  the  eye." 

"  Hear  her,  hear  her  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Clayton.     l.1  It 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  49 

is  you  who  keep  me  sick.  You  will  never  see  anything 
as  I  do.  I  vow  to  gracious,  you  will  some  day  be  run- 
ning off  with  some  Dutch  musician.  I  have  always  said 
so." 

In  point  of  fact,  this  was  the  first  time  Mrs.  Clayton 
had  ever  said  or  thought  anything  of  the  kind ;  but  this 
was  not  the  first  time  she  had  got  into  a  Yurious  passion 
about  nothing. 

Amelia  arose  quietly  from  her  chair  and  approached 
that  of  Mrs.  Clayton.  "  Mother,  you  know  that  I  have 
never  crossed  you  in  anything  —  that  I  thought  was 
right.  You  are  already  sorry  for  what  you  have  said ; 
and  that  you  may  have  no  longer  an  object  for  your 
causeless  anger,  permit  me  to  retire.  God  grant  that, 
whenever  it  shall  be  my  time  to  marry,  my  choice  shall 
be  your  choice." 

Stooping,  she  kissed  her  mother.  Then,  shaking  Miss 
Garr's  hand,  Amelia  left  the  room. 

A  calm  succeeded. 

During  which,  it  occurred  to  Miss  Sophia  that  it 

was  time  fbr  her  to  be  going  to  her  school.  "  Oh,  how 
wearisome,"  sighed  Miss  Garr,  "  to  have  to  leave  you 
thus,  my  kind,  generous  friend,  when  you  are  not  at  all 
well,  and,  may  be,  I  could,  in  my  humble  way  "  — 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  a  rest  from  school-teach- 
ing, Sophia  ?  "  broke  in  Mrs.  Clayton,  not  a  little  moved 
by  the  insinuating  speech  she  had  syncopated. 

u  Oh  !  so  much,"  answered  the  priestess  of  Minerva, 
who  had  a  wonderful  faculty  at  divining,  when  her  way 
was  lit  up  by  her  own  hopes. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  continued  Mrs.  Clayton,  "  that 
I  should  like  to  have  you  live  with  us.  You  could  be  a 
4 


50  GLOVERSON 

sort  of  companion  to  me,  and  tutoress  of  Amelia.  What 
do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  delighted  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Garr,  in  a 
tapering,  treble.  "  I  have  been  confined  in  the  school- 
room so  long  that  I  really  need  rest." 

**  And  Amelia  would  be  delighted,  too,"  said  the  moth- 
er, for  she  knew  that  she  could  put  the  matter  in  the 
light  of  a  generous  action  to  an  old  friend,  and  convince 
her  daughter  directly. 

"  We  will  say  nothing  about  salary  ?  "  suggested  Miss 
Garr. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Clayton,  in  a  burst  of  what  she 
considered  magnanimity,  "  no,  no  ;  we  will  live  together, 
as  the  old  friends  that  we  are." 

Miss  Garr  saw  that  she  had  been  misunderstood.  She 
could  really  have  lived  on  her  interest  money.  "  But, 
then,"  she  faltered,  "  board  and  lodging  are  not  every- 
thing ;  one  must  dress." 

"  Well,  say  we  add  thirty  dollars  a  month  for  that  ob- 
ject." 

"  Oh  !  I  would  not  be  worth  it  That's  as  much  as  a 
servant  gets." 

"  Make  it  fifty  dollars,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Clayton,  more 
anxious  than  she  seemed. 

"  As  you  like,"  sighed  Miss  Garr,  resignedly. 

"  Enough  said,"  continued  the  magnanimous  widow. 
"  From  this  very  day,  this  is  your  home.  The  sooner 
you  hand  in  your  resignation  to  the  Board  the  better." 

This  was  good  fortune  enough.  It  might  have  been 
better,  if  it  had  happened  before  Mr.  Dixon's  call ;  but 
what  matter  after  all  ?  It  had  come  at  last.  The  waxen 
wings  of  Sophia's  hope,  as  you  shall  see,  were  impelling 
her  directly  in  the  face  of  the  sun.  "  I  will  move  here 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  51 

to-morrow,"  she  said,  "  but  I  would  not  like  to  resign  be- 
fore the  end  of  the  term." 

"  On  account  of  the  '  Teachers'  Contract,'  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  when  a  lady  teacher  resigns  in  the  middle 
of  a  term,  a  marriage  is  soon  expected,  and  you  know," 
continued  Miss  Garr,  confidentially,  "  that  would  be  so 
embarrassing  to  Mr.  Dixon." 

"  The  gentleman  who  was  here  last  night  ?  " 

"  The  same." 

It  undoubtedly  would  have  been  embarrassing,  consid- 
ering Mr.  Dixon's  slight  acquaintance  with  Miss  Garr. 

"  Resign,  then,  at  the  end  of  the  term  ;  but,  come  now, 
when  is  it  really  to  come  off,  Sophia  —  the  marriage  ?  " 

Sophia  strove  desperately  after  a  blush,  but  said  noth- 
ing. 

"  Well,  well,  it's  always  the  way  with  you  girls.  Never 
mind,  never  mind." 

This  generous  flattery  to  the  girl  of  thirty  summers 
was  only  to  put  her  into  good  humor  for  something  that 
was  to  follow :  "  Don't  you  think,  Sophia,  that  by  living 
in  the  same  family  with  your  one  pupil,  you  might  have  a 
great  deal  of  influence  over  her  mind  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Clayton." 

"  Especially  in  preparing  her  for  the  important  step 
you  are  about  to  take  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  understand  !  " 

"  Could  you  not  prepare  a  pupil  for  marriage  with  a 
proper  young  man  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  begin  to  see  your  meaning,  Mrs.  Clayton." 

Miss  Sophia  Garr  was  only  sorry  that  she  had  not 
seen  her  old  friend's  meaning  much  sooner  than  she  did. 
She  considered  herself  fairly  outwitted,  in  the  point  of 
salary. 


52  GLOVERSON 

"  You  know,  Sophia,  I  am  so  passionate,  and  you  are 
so  cool.  Amelia  always  conquers  me.  Will  you  help 
me  —  to  —  to  "  — 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Clayton,  I  will  help  you  to  add  George 
Lang's  fortune  to  yours." 

"  Sophia,  you  are  an  angel !  " 

And  the  angel,  extricating  herself  from  the  hys- 
teric embraces  of  the  fond  widow,  flew  away  to  her  sub- 
lunary duties  in  the  Public  School. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  53 


CHAPTER  VI. 

UN   BALLO    IN    MASCHERA. 

You  may  have  been  at  the  superb  entertainments  of 
the  k<  Marquesa,"  at  Florence,  when  her  husband  was 
Governatore  of  Tuscany;  you  may  have  assisted  at  the 
wild  displays  of  the  Orpheum  of  Berlin  ;  or  at  the  sub- 
lime Punch  and  Judy  exhibitions  of  the  Princess  Demi- 
doff,  in  Paris,  —  and  yet,  with  these  as  phenomena,  you 
may  be  unable  to  come  at  a  fair  inductive  idea  of  a 
masque  ball  in  San  Francisco. 

In  the  metropolis  of  the  "  Evening  Land,"  there  is  a 
peculiarity  in  this  branch  of  devotion  to  the  merry  god- 
dess. The  occasion  seems  a  sort  of  spiritual  onoma- 
topoeia, wherein  (conversely)  the  sense  is  echo  to  the 
sound.  The  maskers  are  animated  by  what  may  be  termed 
an  esprit  de  corps.  An  army  of  merry-making  Cincinnati 
they  seem,  having  left  their  avocational  ploughs  behind 
them,  to  tilt  with  dull  care  and  put  sorrow  to  ignomini- 
ous flight. 

The  subscription  masque  ball  of  the  "  Magnolia  Club" 
was  the  very  Alpine  peak  of  gayety,  commanding  a 
glorious  sunrise  of  anticipations,  and  a  sunset  of  pleas- 
ant memories  —  in  short,  a  Righi,  which  the  pleasure- 
pilgrim  had  long  looked  forward  to,  and  was  destined  to 
look  back  upon,  with  delight. 

Huge  poll-parrots  and  pensive  Ophelias,  beer-barrels 


54  GLOVERSON 

V 

and  bishops,  harlequins  and  Platos,  monks  and  devils 
tessellated  the  floors  in  lancers  and  polkas. 

In  the  pauses  of  the  dance,  love  was  stricken  from  the 
clash  of  all  tongues.  Love  was  made  in  English,  Ger- 
man, French,  Italian,  Spanish,  and  Chinese.  Love  was 
made  by  kings  to  shepherdesses,  and  by  shepherds  to 
queens.  Love  was  made  by  major-generals  to  vivan- 
dieres ;  and  by  drunken  Paddies  to  meek-eyed  sultanas. 

Yet,  running  through  the  Babel  of  words  and  ges- 
tures, was  that  one  thread  of  hearty  abandon,  which 
lifted  this  out  of  the  routine  of  carnival  scenes  else- 
where ;  and  which  now  holds  it  in  suspense,  above  any 
description.  There  were  no  stage-waits,  or  scene-shift- 
ings  between  the  whirl  of  the  dance  and  the  ardor  of 
sweet  talk.  Waltzes  drifted  into  love-making,  and  love- 
making  drifted  into  quadrilles.  The  music  of  the  redowa 
did  not  seem  to  die  away,  but  to  melt,  rather,  into  the 
low  tones  of  the  love-makers ;  and  the  fluttering  hearts, 
instead  of  the  merry  feet,  kept  time.  To  the  lights, 
which  gleamed  above  the  decorations,  and  to  the  birds 
that  sang  from  the  cages  on  the  walls,  almost  hidden  in 
the  garlands, there  was  something  congenial  in  the  bright 
eyes  and  echoing  laughter  of  the  dancers  beneath. 
Every  heart,  in  fine,  appeared  set  to  the  occasion,  as 
words  to  the  melody  of  a  Scottish  song. 

Not  in  this  jovial  company  would  you  have  found 
Amos  Dixon.  Handsomely  attired  in  his  usual  creases 
and  wrinkles,  he  had  taken  his  seat  above,  in  the  gallery 
of  the  hall.  Amos  was  disguised  as  a  spectator ;  and 
was  probably  the  most  successful  masker  of  the  evening ; 
for  he  did  not  look  at  the  giddy  scene  below  at  all.  His 
eyes  were  engaged  in  swallow-flights  clear  above  and 
across  it  to  the  other  side  of  the  gallery.  Here  they 
hovered  about  a  group  — 


AND   HJS   SILENT   PARTNERS.  55 

But  what  was  Amos  Dixon  doing  at  such  a  place  ? 

Several  weeks  have  passed  since  his  last  appearance 
before  you,  and  they  have  been  sad  ones  to  him. 

At  the  steamship  office,  that  evening,  as  soon  as  he 
had  slightly  recovered  from  the  painful  shock  the  agent's 
sudden  announcement  had  given  him,  Amos  turned  back 
to  the  place  where  he  had  left  Aunty  Owen.  But  she 
was  not  there.  He  sought  her  in  every  direction,  but  he 
had  lost  her  in  the  crowd. 

On  his  dreary  way  homeward  he  called  at  the  little 
brown  house,  and  she  was  not  there.  At  an  early  hour 
next  morning,  he  passed  her  little  gate  many  times,  loath 
to  disturb  her,  if  she  might  be  sleeping  after  so  much 
Weariness  and  sorrow.  His  anxiety  at  last  becoming 
unbearable,  he  knocked  at  her  door. 

And  there  came  no  answer. 

Amos  knocked  again  and  again,  and  still  there  came 
no  answer. 

Forcing  the  door  open,  he  found  that  Aunty  Owen  was 
not  there.  The  silent  rooms  were  as  she  had  left  them 
the  night  before. 

It  is  a  story  too  long  and  weary  to  be  dwelt  upon,  how 
day  after  day,  and  night  after  night,  Amos  knocked 
again  and  again  at  the  door  of  the  little  brown  house, 
and  sought  Aunty  Owen  in  every  part  of  the  city,  — 
until,  one  morning,  the  landlord  placed  a  placard  in  the 
window,  announcing  that  the  little  brown  house  was 
"To  Let." 

You  may  have  noticed,  if  you  have  ever  passed  through 
a  native  wood,  that  where  the  trees  are  thickest,  the  soil 
is  most  nourished  by  their  fallen  fellows.  It  is  thrown 
out,  therefore,  simply  as  a  query,  whether  our  natural 
hearts  are  not,  in  some  respects,  like  forests  primeval  — 


56  GLOVERSON 

whether  some  affections  do  not  spring,  as  it  were,  from 
the  dead  trunks  of  others.  It  is  certain,  at  any  rate, 
that,  as  the  weeks  wore  drearily  away  to  Amos,  the 
image  of  a  calm  young  face  was  mirrored  by  the  side  of 
the  kindly  old  one,  on  the  receding  waters  of  his  remem- 
brance. 

When  he  read  in  the  paper  that  a  subscription  masque- 
rade ball  was  to  be  given  by  the  "Magnolia  Club,"  he 
took  pains  to  find  out  whether  Amelia  Clayton  would  be 
there.  And  this  is  why  Amos  Dixon  is  sitting  where 
you  have  left  him  above  in  t-te  gallery,  peering  across  at 
that  group  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall  —  a  group  of 
four  persons,  the  centre  of  which  is  no  other  than  the 
pleased  face  of  Miss  Amelia  Clayton. 

On  oue  side  of  her  sat  George  Lang,  and  on  the  other, 
Miss  Sophia  Garr  and  Karl  Schmerling.  This  kind- 
hearted  German,  learning  (from  her  own  lips)  that  Miss 
Garr  was  now  one  of  the  family,  and  hearing  George,  in 
her  presence,  invite  Amelia  to  witness  the  ball,  fiad  ex- 
tended a  like  invitation  to  the  retiring  schoolmistress. 
And  here  they  all  were  —  not  masked,  of  course  —  in- 
tensely enjoying  the  gayety  of  the  spectacle  below, 
wholly  unconscious  of  the  eager  espionage  of  which 
they  were  the  subjects. 

Mr.  Amos  Dixon  was  not  a  philosopher.  Had  you 
asked  him  why  that  group  of  four  was  of  more  interest  to 
him  than  were  the  grotesque  hundreds  beneath,  he  could 
hardly  have  told  you  —  that  is,  without  blushing  and 
stammering.  In  general,  he  had  a  way  of  doing  what  he 
did  not  think  was  wrong,  without  any  psychological  hair- 
splitting about  motives.  No,  Amos  was  not  a  philoso- 
pher. He  could  not  convince  himself  that  wrong  was 
right.  Yet,  somehow  or  other,  there  was  a  loadstone 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  57 

property  in  the  Right,  that  almost  always  acted,  through 
the  external  wrinkles  and  creases,  on  the  hidden  steel  of 
his  nature. 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  bell  sounded  for  the  unmasking, 
and  the  visitors  descended  to  the  floor  of  the  hall.  It 
was  then  that  the  quick  eye  of  Miss  Sophia  Garr  first 
observed  Amos.  She  thought  it  would  be  a  master 
stroke  to  make  him  jealous  and  pay  him  up  for  neglect- 
ing her  so  long.  So,  she  leaned  more  affectionately  upon 
the  arm  of  Karl  Schmerling,  and  led  Amelia  and  George 
up  to  the  innocent  ledge  of  humanity,  she  was  "  pros- 
pecting." 

Isjie  two  gentlemen  greeted  Amos ;  one  warmly,  the 
other  politely.  Miss  Garr  bowed  stiffly,  and  clave  still 
more  affectionately  to  Karl  —  a  clear  case,  wherein  the 
tendril  might  have  sustained  the  oak.  Amelia  extended 
her  hand  kindly,  and  Amos  imagined  that  he  was  touch- 
ing velvet  —  only  it  thrilled  him  so  much  more.  Some- 
thing seemed  to  have  dropped  into  his  heart ;  for  a  crim- 
son ripple  ran  clear  up  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  and  was 
lost. 

Miss  Garr  saw  it,  and  attributed  it,  of  course,  to  jeal- 
ousy. She  thought  it  would  now  be  politic  to  let  a  little 
hope  in  upon  her  victim.  Drawing  him  aside,  she  con- 
fided to  him  that  she  is  now  —  as  she  had  always  expected 
to  be,  and  regretted  that  she  was  not,  on  the  occasion  of 
his  call,  etc.,  etc.  —  one  of  the  family  of  her  old  friend 
from  the  State  of  Maine.  "  At  our  house,"  said  she,  with 
an  impressive  curvilinear  glance,  "  Mr.  Dixon  will  always 
be  welcome,  unless"  —  and  now  Miss  Garr  was  simply 
killing  in  her  manner  —  "  unless  you  stay  away  again  as 
long  as  you  have  this  time." 


58  GLOVERSON 

In  the  same  house  !  "  Thank  you,  thank  you  !  "  — 
and  the  gleam  of  real  pleasure  on  the  face  of  Amos  was 
dwelt  upon  by  Miss  Garr,  as  a  pyrotechnic  display  in 
honor  of  her  own  triumphal  march. 

But  to  make  the  long-sought  ingot  more  surely  hers, 
she  was  prepared  for  further  condescension  :  "  This  is 
the  last  term  of  my  school-teaching  ;  I  am  a  little  proud 
of  my  class.  You  must  promise  to  visit  it.  I  shall  ex- 
pect you  next  Monday.  Now,  no  thanks,  pray." 

Thus  the  imperial  dispenser  of  largesses,  to  Amos 
Dixon,  martyr  —  as  she  went  back  to  assume  her  former 
role  of  tendril  (in  late  autumn),  clambering  about  the 
slender  oak  of  Karl  Schmerling.  The  two  couples  now 
promenaded  about  the  hall,  and  Amos  was  left  by  him- 
self. 

For  a  while  he  had  that  indescribable  sensation  of 
being  alone  in  crowds.  He  wandered  to  a  seat,  where, 
unobserved,  he  could  watch  Amelia  pass.  It  is  a  source 
of  some  regret  that  Amos  was  not  a  philosopher.  Pie 
might  have  made  a  better  analysis  of  his  feelings.  As  it 
was,  there  seemed  to  be  an  elastic  cord,  fastened,  at  one 
end,  somewhere  under  his  waistcoat,  and  at  the  other,  to 
the  object  he  was  watching  so  intently.  As  the  distance 
between  them  increased,  the  tension  of  the  imaginary 
cord  became  more  and  more  painful.  But  when  she 
came  around  nearer  and  nearer  again,  the  tension  grad- 
ually decreased ;  and  he  felt  the  negative  pleasure  of  a 
diminishing  pain. 

The  sharp  eye  of  Sophia  Garr  finally  discovered  his 
hiding-place.  He  arose  and  crossed  the  hall,  unresolved 
what  to  do.  Here  a  very  unprepossessing  young  lady  in 
white  gauze  remarked,  from  her  position  as  "  wall- 
flower," "  Good  evening,  Mr.  Dixon." 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  59 

Now  Amos  did  not  recollect  ever  to  have  seen  this 
young  lady  before.  It  is,  indeed,  a  question  in  his  mind, 
to  this  day,  where,  and  how,  and  when  he  was  ever  in- 
troduced to  her.  And  here,  as  well  as  anywhere,  may  be 
brought  forward  the  remark,  that  the  present  chronicler 
is  not  responsible  for  the  constitution  of  Californian 
society.  He  has  endeavored  to  paint  it  as  it  is,  not  as  it 
should  be.  The  general  reader  is  not  aware,  probably, 
that  the  Californian  always  speaks  of  the  Atlantic  States 
as  "  home,"  no  matter  if  his  children  have  been  born  in 
the  New  Land,  and  he  himself  never  intends  to  leave  it. 
The  Pacific  coast  has  been  a  place  of  sojourn,  a  camping- 
ground,  for  people  who  came  to  get  wealth,  and  fold  up 
their  tents  again,  and  steal  away  with  it  whence  they 
came.  To  those  who  live  there,  it  is  a  very  trite  remark, 
indeed,  that,  until  of  late  years,  there  were  no  homes  in 
California.  In  such  a  state  of  affairs,  society  must  have 
been  very  much  like  a  neglected  garden  ;  and,  if  some 
of  the  weeds  yet  remain,  it  is  not  at  all  astonishing. 
There  are,  of  course,  a  few  select  circles  into  which  it 
would  be  no  novelty  to  introduce  you.  It  may  be  owing 
to  the  minority  of  women  and  a  lack  of  their  refining 
influences,  or  it  may  be  owing  to  the  free,  generous  souls 
of  the  men  —  whatever  the  cause,  there  is,  unquestion- 
ably, something  peculiarly  expers-curce,  in  the  usages  of 
Californian  society. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Dixon,"  said  the  very  unprepos- 
sessing young  lady,  in  white  gauze,  whom  Amos  could 
not  remember  ever  to  have  seen  before. 

."  Good  evening,"  responded  Mr.  Dixon,  glad  to  see  his 
way  out  of  the  embarrassment  in  which  he  found  him- 
self, in  so  large  a  company,  with  nothing  ostensibly  to  do ; 
and  he  proposed  a  promenade.  Thereupon  the  young 


60  GLOVERSON 

lady  in  white  gauze  believed  that  Mr.  Dixon  was  unac- 
quainted with  her  mother,  and  immediately  proceeded  to 
introduce  him  to  an  older  and  still  more  unprepossessing 
lady,  also  in  white  gauze.  Amos,  of  course,  had  to  invite 
the  mother  to  share  in  the  promenade.  And  away  the 
three  went  in  just  an  opposite  direction  to  the  others,  so 
as  to  meet  Amelia  at  every  completed  round  of  the 
hall. 

Amos  and  the  mural  camellias  at  his  side,  made  some 
little  sensation  among  his  friends.  Miss  Sophia  Garr 
was  especially  impressed.  In  her  eagerness  to  find  out 
who  her  rivals  were,  she  contemplated  having  them  seated 
by  her  at  the  supper-table.  She  waited  till  they  came 
around  again  :  — 

"  Keep  right  behind  us,  Mr.  Dixon,"  said  the  angelic 
Sophia,  "  they  are  now  forming  for  supper." 

This  innocent  little  remark  elected  Amos  for  two  sup- 
pers besides  his  own  —  that  is,  fifteen  dollars  in  all.  The 
speaker  knew  it  would ;  but  what  of  that  ?  Wouldn't 
she  thus  gratify  her  curiosity  —  and  her  pique,  too? 

About  this  time  appeared  two  tow-headed  boys,  aged, 
respectively,  eight  and  ten  years.  Cried  the  younger :  — 

"  O  ma,  are  you  going  to  dinner  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  sons,"  said  the  mother,  answering  the 
hungry  look  of  the  eldef  boy,  at  the  same  time ;  "  Yes,  my 
sons,  we  are  going  to  supper.  These  are  my  sons,  James 
and  Johnny,  Mr.  Dixon." 

And  the  two  joined  the  procession  supperward,  one 
taking  the  mother's  hand,  and  the  other  clinging  to  that 
of  his  sister  —  five  abreast,  Amos  in  the  middle. 

It  so  happened  that  Miss  Garr,  very  much  against  her 
scheme,  got  drifted  to  another  part  of  the  room,  away 
from  the  table  of  Mr.  Dixon  and  his  family  of  unknowns ; 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  61 

while  only  the  mother  and  a  tow-headed  boy  separated 
that  gentleman  from  Amelia  Clayton. 


"  Well,  ladies,"  said  Amos,  surveying  his  position  and 
losing  his  appetite,  in  the  same  instant,  "  how  are  you 
pleased  with  the  ball." 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  like  it  at  all,"  responded  the  mother,  who 
evidently  had  not  been  troubled  with  partners  during  the 
evening. 

"  No,"  added  the  daughter,  with  an  aristocratic  shrug. 
"  It's  nawthin'  to  the  ball  maskeys  we  used  to  have  in 
Meadville,  Pennsylvany  ! " 

"  No,  indeed,  it  isn't,"  quoth  the  matron.  "  Were  you 
e  ,'er  in  Meadville,  Mr.  Dixon  ?  " 

"  Never,"  sighed  Amos. 

The  face  of  the  compassionate  mother  assumed  such, 
an  expression,  as  plainly  told  the  unfortunate  young  man 
that  his  life  had  been  thrown  away :  "  Why,  really,  Mr. 
Dixon" — 

"  Oh,  ho !  Johnny,  you  haint  got  no  chicken ! "  ex- 
claimed the  elder  tow-head,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  while 
he  flourished  a  "  side  bone  "  at  his  brother,  four  seats  re- 
moved. 

"  Dod-rot  you,  Jim,  gim'  me  some  of  that  'ere 
chicken ! " 

Meadville  was  forgotten,  in  parental  solicitude  to  quiet 
the  clamorous  tow-heads. 

Amos  now  had  leisure  to  observe  the  sensation  his 
family  had  made,  on  both  sides  of  the  table,  for  some 
distance.  He  only  saw  that  Amelia  did  not  laugh  with 
the  rest 

In  the  succeeding  quiet,  Amos  sat  contemplating  about 


62  GLOVERSON 

a  yard  of  gauze,  thrown  over  the  daughter's  head ;  then, 
recollecting  that  the  conversation  lagged,  he  broke  silence 
thus : — 

"Miss  —  uh,  what  is  your  character — I  mean,  what 
do  you  represent  this  evening  ?  " 

"  A  snow-storm." 

"  Indeed  !  and  yours,  Mrs.  —  uh  ?  " 

"  A  snow-storm,  too !  " 

Amos  now  directed  his  attention  to  Jimmy  and  Johnny 
who  were  still  executing  the  supper,  with  the  skill  of 
vigorous  artists.  Pointing  sagaciously  from  one  tow- 
head  to  the  other,  he  remarked :  "  Hail-storms,  I  pre- 
sume ?  " 

"  No,  my  sons  did  not  come  in  character." 

"  But  they  show  yours !  "  said  the  low  voice  of  a  spite- 
ful young  lady  opposite,  who,  through  their  ambidexterity, 
had  secured  no  chicken. 

About  this  time,  a  man  came  around  to  collect  the 
money  for  the  suppers.  Approaching  Amos  :  "  How 
many,  sir  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see,"  observed  Mr.  Dixon,  "  one,  two,  three, 
four,  five :  five,  sir !  " 

"  Twenty-five  dollars !  "  said  the  man  ;  and  Amos  paid 
for  the  repast  of  which  he  had  not  eaten  a  morsel. 

Meantime,  Miss  Sophia  Garr  had  been  exceedingly 
uneasy.  She  had  heard  the  laughter  at  the  table  of 
Amos  and  reasoned  to  herself  thus :  "  Can  either  of 
those  horrid,  designing  creatures  be  intellectual  ?  I  vo\v 
I  am  sorry  I  asked  that  stupid  Dixon  to  come  to  my 
school.  It  was  good  for  him  that  I  did  not  know  what  I 
do  now.  Well,  I  will  call  him  here  and  pump  him." 
-  She  caught  the  eye  of  Amos,  just  as  he  was  looking 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  63 

around  for  comfort,  after  divesting  himself  of  the  afore- 
said twenty-five  dollars.  From  the  earnestness  of  her 
gesticulations,  he  thought  the  case  so  urgent  as  to  war- 
rant him  in  excusing  himself  from  his  company  for  a 
short  time.  Besides,  was  not  the  same  abandon  observa- 
ble at  the  supper-table,  as  in  the  ball-room.?  Were  not 
other£  leaving  their  seats  constantly  ?  The  minute  after, 
therefore,  Mr.  Gloverson's  cashier  was  at  the  side  of 
Sophia  Garr. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Dixon,  that  I  have  as  yet  had  no  op- 
portunity to  beg  for  an  introduction  to  your  family  —  I 
mean  your  lady  friends."  This  speech  was  punctuated 
with  hysteric  jerks  and  bland  smiles. 

Amos,  slightly  puzzled,  was  on  the  point  of  addressing 
^some  remark  to  Karl  Schmerling,  before  he  returned  to 
his  seat  — "  What  did  you  say  their  names  were,  Mr. 
Dixon  ?  "  broke  in  the  anxious  Sophia. 

"  I  don't  really  know  their  names,  Miss  Garr." 

The  current  of  that  lady's  being  suddenly  became  a 
Niagara  of  green  jealousy.  "  Uh !  the  deceitful  rascal," 
thought  she,  "and  these  designing  scare-crows  —  they 
have  led  him  on  to  this,  so  that  I  may  not,  by  knowing 
their  names,  expose  their  real  characters." 

"You  mean,  Mr.  Dixon,"  she  remarked  aloucf,  "you 
do  not  want  to  give  their  names." 

"  Upon  my  honor,  Miss  Garr,  I  never  remember  to 
have  seen  either  the  ladies  or  the  boys  before  —  and  I 
cannot  say  that  —  with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  the 
boys  —  I  shall  ever  care  to  see  them  again." 

The  current  of  Sophia  Garr's  being  had  reached  a 
placid  Ontario  of  tenderness;  from  which  only  murmurs 
of  sweet  talk  reached  the  ears  of  Amos,  till  he  returned 
to  his  own  table. 


64  GLOVERSON 

Now  as  Mr.  Dixon  had  risen,  his  seat,  in  the  midst  of 
the  family,  had  been  taken  by  a  gentleman  in  military 
uniform,  "  with  his  suspenders,"  as  the  younger  tow- 
head  quaintly  termed  his  shoulder-straps,  "on  the  outside 
of  his  coat."  His  moustache  bending  gently  to  his  smile, 
he  remarked^  as  he  helped  himself  vigorously  to  the 
viands  :  —  • 

"  Ah  !  you  came  down  with  Mr.  Dinkson,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  we  have  been  expecting  you." 

"  And  while  we  was  waitin',"  exclaimed  little  Johnny, 
from  behind  an  embankment  of  sponge-cake,  "  a  man 
come  'long,  an'  Mr.  Dinkson  paid  him  twenty-five  dol- 
lars!" 

The  brass-buttoned  officer  did  not  appear  either  sur- 
prised or  grieved  at  this  shrill  •  announcement ;  but, 
quietly  brushing  from  his  coat-sleeve  the  crumbs  which 
Johnny  had  emitted  at  the  same  time,  he  addressed  him- 
self to  the  meal ;  and  the  symposial  delinquencies  of 
Amos  were  more  than  atoned  for.  The  man  did  not 
come  around  again  for  money.  The  military  gentleman, 
evidently,  had  a  genius  for  strategy. 

Amos,  returning  from  Miss  Garr,  had  just  time  to  ob- 
serve that  this  festal  warrior  was  also  an  utter  stranger 
to  him,  when  the  latter  crowding  up  to  the  daughter, 
observed,  smiling  and  eating  with  much  intensity: 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Dinkson ;  there  is  room  right  here 
for  you." 

Amos  again  excused  himself,  and  approached  the  seat 
of  Miss  Amelia  Clayton.  George  Lang,  who  sat  beside 
her,  had  been  the  centre  of  a  merry  and  vivacious  com- 
pany during  the  whole  repast :  for  it  was  in  such  scenes, 
where  champagne  flowed  liberally  on  all  around  him  at 
his  own  expense;  and  where  his  tongue  sparkled,  like 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  65 

the  wine,  with  bright  bubbles,  that  carry  head-ache  and 
heart-ache  to  the  too  confident  drinker  —  it  was  in  such 
scenes,  that  George  Lang  had  acquired  the  epithet  of 
the  "  Irresistible." 

Amelia  had  been  unusually  still.  She  had  watched 
and  listened.  Seeing  Amos  come  toward  her,  she  made 
room  for  him  by  her  side.  Here,  she  engaged  him  in  a 
little  pleasant  conversation  till  it  was  time  to  ascend  to 
the  ball-room.  Amos  thought  he  would  go  back  to  his 
family. 

"  No,  Mr.  Dixon,"  said  Amelia,  "  I  would  not  go  back 
there.  Come  with  Mr.  Lang  and  me." 

Arrived  in  the  ball-room  again,  Amelia  requested 
George  to  take  her  home.  The  stock-broker  disappeared 
obsequiously  after  his  coat  and  hat. 

Amelia  turned  towards  Amos  a  calm,  serious  face,  and 
looked  straight  into  his  honest  eyes  :  "  Mr.  Dixon,  you 
have  been  basely  imposed  upon." 

"  I  know  it,  Miss  Clayton,"  and  he  must  have  been 
very  much  ashamed  of  himself,  for  he  blushed  and 
stammered  when  he  said  it,  "  I  know  it,  Miss  Clayton, 
but,  then,  the  boys  —  the  boys  enjoyed  their  suppers !  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  been  in  the  same  company  with 
any  one  capable  of  such  "  — 

"  Ah !  "  sighed  Amos,  "  if  you  blame  me  for  it,  I  shall 
be  sorry  that  I  fed  the  hungry." 

Just  behind  the  smile  in  the  two  gray  eyes  bent  upon 
Amos,  there  came  that  strange  light,  which  is  the  herald 
of  tears  ;  but  George  Lang,  Karl,  and  Miss  Garr  were 
upon  them  in  the  next  moment ;  and  the  four  took  their 
departure  from  the  scene. 

Amos  followed  their  carriage,  for  some  distance,  on  his 
way  home.  As  it  disappeared,  this  thought  was  in  the 


66  GLOVERSON 

sigh  that  went  after  it :  "  On  the  whole,  it  would  be  bet- 
ter if  the  United  States  government  paid  its  volunteer 
officers  on  this  coast,  in  gold  instead  of  *  green-backs ; ' 
but  then,  I've  got  my  money  back,  ten  times  over  —  in 
sympathy,  in  sympathy  ! " 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  67 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

AMOS    DIXON   IS    INTRODUCED    TO    PESTALOZZI,    AND 
HIS    SYSTEM. 

IT  seemed  to  Amos  that  he  had  now  a  worse  trouble 
than  Annty  Owen's  disappearance  had  ever  caused  him. 
What  made  it  worse  still,  he  did  not  know  what  this 
trouble  was.  When  he  reasoned  about  it,  it  did  not 
seem  a  trouble  at  all  —  it  seemed  a  delightful  ecstacy. 
All  the  pain  was  akin  to  gladness ;  yet  all  the  gladness 
was.  akin  to  pain  —  a  sort  of  bitter-sweet  of  doubt  and 
trust.  But  then  he  lost  his  appetite  and  grew  pale.  He 
must  be  sick ! 

He  hummed  certain  of  Moore's  Melodies  over  his  desk 
in  the  counting-room.  He  caught  himself  writing  "  Ame- 
lia "  for  "  amount "  in  his  ledger.  He  read  the  poems 
'on  "  Sympathy,"  in  the  weekly  papers.  He  was  surely 
sick ! 

Nothing  before  had  ever  disturbed  his  sound  sleep  of 
health.  Now  he  lay  awake  long  into  the  night,  to  sink 
into  confused  dreams  ;  and  —  what  struck  him  as  unac- 
countably odd  —  his  dreams  were  only  distorted  shadows 
of  his  day  thoughts.  He  walked  over  pleasant,  sunny 
lawns,  with  the  tall,  graceful  figure  of  a  young  woman  — 
when,  of  a  sudden,  a  huge  door  would  clap  to  after  him, 
and  he  would  find  himself  in  a  great,  windowless  room, 
with  walls  of  massive  stone  and  iron,  with  nothing  to  il- 
luminate the  darkness  but  the  strange  light  of  two  gray 


68      -  GLOVERSON 

eyes  bent  earnestly  upon  him.  As  these  were  filled  and 
dimmed  with  tears,  the  darkness  pressed  upon  him  such 
a  weight  of  horror  that,  in  a  struggle  for  breath,  he  would 
awake  and  think  of  Amelia  Clayton ;  and,  lapsing  into 
slumber,  would  dream  the  same  dream  over  again. 

By  day,  he  was  subject  to  moods.  He  had  a  strange 
feeling  of  wasting.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  drew 
nothing  from  the  light  and  air  around  him.  He  was  feed- 
ing on  himself;  and  himself  was  one  thought.  It  is  true, 
he  was  sometimes  elevated  beyond  the  level  of  his  ordi- 
nary joys,  but  he  was  always  sure,  soon  after,  to  be  de- 
pressed as  far  below  that  of  his  ordinary  sorrows ;  and 
these  sudden  changes  seemed  the  flood  and  ebb  tides  of 
an  ocean  all  his  own.  At  the  thought  of  Amelia  Clay- 
ton, his  eye  would  kindle  and  his  cheek  glow  with  an 
unnatural  warmth  ;  and,  at  the  thought  of  George  Lang 
(which  always  came  soon  after),  he  would  turn  pale,  and 
his  hands  would  feel  cold.  "I've  got  the  fever  and 
ague !  "  said  Amos  Dixon. 

Having  made  this  astute  diagnosis,  Amps  thus  ad- 
dressed Mr.  Gloverson,  his  employer  :  "  I  am  a  little  ill. 
I  think  I  will  take  my  week's  summer  vacation,  dating 
from  to-morrow." 

A  burly,  red  face  was  turned  upon  the  pale  one  of 
Amos.  This,  with  the  whole  head  behind  it,  taken  in 
connection  with  a  very  short  neck,  seemed  the  premature 
ending  of  a  very  short  and  very  thick  body.  Eying  his 
cashier  a  moment,  the  senior  partner  of  the  firm  of  Glov- 
erson &  Co.  exclaimed,  "  A  little  ill !  Why,  Dixon,  sir, 
you  are  sick !  I  know  what  a  sick  man  is,  when  I  see 
him,  Dixon.  You  are  sick,  Dixon,  sir ;  you  are  sick  ! " 

"  I  hope  it  won't  last  longer  than  my  vacation  week." 

"  Dixon,  sir,  you  be  —  you  —     I  give  you  a  week  to 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  69 

get  well  in,  and  another  week  for  a  vacation.  Here,  you 
fellow  there !  "  (calling  to  a  young  man  at  another  desk 
in  the  counting-room)  "  we'll  take  turns  here  till  Dixon 
gets  well." 

"  I  can  just  as  well  keep  on  to-day,  now  I  am  here," 
said  Amos. 

"  O  Dixon,  you  be  d d ;  and  take  care  of  your- 
self. Go  home,  and  don't  let  me  see  anything  more  of 
you  till  you  get  well.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  your 
vacation  commences."  Panting  with  the  unwonted  ex- 
citement of  his  feelings  and  the  extraordinary  exertion 
of  his  oratory,  Mr.  Andrew  Gloverson  continued,  with  this 
impressive  and  unanswerable  peroration,  "  If  you  don't 
get  well,  sir,  you  shan't  have  any  vacation  at  all." 

"  Well,  I'll  go ;  but  I  could  have  stayed  to-day,  just  as 
well  as  not,"  observed  Amos,  submissively,  as  he  put  on 
his  1*  at. 

"  Oh !  you  be  d d,"  was  the  affectionate  reply  of 

the  chubby  merchant,  —  a  euphemism,  by  which  any 
unexpected  goodness,  on  the  part  of  his  cashier,  was  in- 
variably visited;  and  which  would  be  gladly  omitted 
here,  were  it  not  for  the  injustice  that  would  accrue  to 
«the  character  of  Mr.  Gloverson.  His  lady  friends  will 
read  it,  "  you  be  dashed ; "  and,  if  they  do  not  learn  to 
forgive  this  wickedness  in  the  fat  old  gentleman,  his 
story  and  that  of  his  silent  partners  will  have  been  writ- 
ten to  very  little  purpose. 

"  Dixon,  sir,"  pursued  his  employer,  as  Amos  still  hesi- 
tated on  the  threshold  of  the  counting-room,  "  Dixon,  sir, 
you  know  I  never  go  back  on  my  own  judgment.  You 
are  sick,  sir ;  and  get  out  of  here  this  minute,  sir,  and 
take  care  of  yourself,  old  fellow.  Blue  mass,  blue  mass, 
my  boy !  Dixon,  sir,  take  some  blue  mass  !  " 


70  GLOVERSON 

Amos  went  forth. 

As  Andrew  Gloverson  succeeded  in  getting  his  portly 
old  form  upon  the  high  stool  left  by  the  invalid,  he  was 
heard  to  mutter,  between  two  long  breaths,  "  That  Dixon 
be  d d ;  he  is  too  good  for  this  world.  I'd  do  any- 
thing for  him." 

There  is  no  telling  what  medicine  Amos  might  have 
taken,  had  he  not,  on  his  way  home,  remembered  this 
was  Monday,  the  very  day  he  was  expected  at  Miss 
Garr's  school.  He  changed  his  course  a  little,  therefore, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  he  knocked  at  what  had,  at 
one  time,  evidently  been  a  corner  grocery. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  small  girl,  with  large  dig- 
nity for  seven  years  and  six  months  ;  also  with  preco- 
cious feet,  and  a  premature  air  of  grandmotherly  cares 
about  her  face,  —  and  Amos  was  ushered  into  the  pri- 
mary school-room. 

The  temple  of  Miss  Sophia  Garr's  ministrations  was 
an  architectural  illustration  of  demand  greater  than  sup- 
ply. Here  were  to  be  found  all  the  progress,  and  pic- 
ture theories  of  Boston,  in  a  building,  to  say  the  least, 
considerably  behind  the  times.  The  groggery  once  was 
the  school-house  now.  As  in  some  countries  the  cross  is 
erected  over  the  spot  where  a  murder  has  been  com- 
mitted, so  here,  on  the  walls  where  once  stood  decanters 
of  deadly  drink,  now  hung  such  mottoes  as  these,  "  Dare 
to  do  right ;  "  "  Be  virtuous,  and  you  will  be  happy  ;  " 
"  Never  tell  a  lie  ;  "  "  Honesty  is  the  best  policy  ;  "  "  Make 
hay  while  the  sun  shines"  etc.,  etc.  These  now  were  the 
law  here  ;  and  Sophia  Garr  was  its  prophetess. 

Amos  was  dreamy  and  embarrassed.  For  some  time, 
only  commonplaces  passed  between  him  and  Miss  Garr. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  71 

He  engaged  himself  in  the  contemplation  of  the  charts 
hanging  around  him.  He  looked  from  the  chart  of 
Forms  to  the  chart  of  Colors  ;  and  .from  the  chart  of 
Colors  to  the  chart  of  Animals,  and  was  lost  in  the  study 
of  a  collection  of  blue  cows,  yellow  sheep,  and  green 
bears  —  all  artistically  arranged  with  an  eye  to  action, 
keeping  the  beholder  in  constant  fear  that  the  blue  cows 
will  devour  the  green  bears,  and  that  the  yellow  sheep 
will  be  the  violent  death  of  the  blue  cows. 

He  found  no  relief  in  turning  his  attention  to  the  chil- 
dren. As  they  sat  there  silently  before  him,  there  was 
something  in  their  bright,  confiding  faces  that  awed  him 
more  than  so  many  adult  visages  ever  could.  They  were 
more  than  so  many  men  and  women  can  be  —  for  men 
and  women  can  never  so  bend  to  one  will.  He  could 
not  tell  how,  but  he  felt  near  the  presence  of  Deity  it- 
self. The  souls  of  the  little  creatures  seemed  to  him  so 
naked  and  so  new. 

A  short  recess  had  been  announced.  The  children, 
had  gone  out;  and  their  exemplary  teacher  was  about 
to  address  herself  to  business,  that  is,  to  Amos  Dixon  — 
when  a  small  boy  came  bawling  into  the  room.  One 
hand  he  flourished  in  the  middle  air,  as  a  signal  of  dis- 
tress. With  the  other,  he  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  the 
futile  attempt  to  shove  back  his  tears. 

"  What's  the  matter,  now  ?  "  burst  from  the  thin  por- 
tals of  Miss  Garr's  face. 

"  Why,  Jim  Baggs  licked  me ! " 

Of  course,  it  did  not  go  well  with  Jim  Baggs,  after 
school ;  but  Amos  is,  to  this  day,  under  personal  obliga- 
tions to  him  for  "  licking  "  that  boy.  The  account  of  the 
pugilistic  encounter  was  so  amusing,  that  Mr.  Dixon  for- 


72  GLOVERSON 

got  all  about  his  embarrassment.  When,  therefore,  the 
scholars  were  assembled  after  recess,  he  was  able  to  give 
his  whole  attention  to  what  Miss  Garr  termed  a  "  philo- 
sophical treat." 

Order  restored,  that  lady  held  up  before  the  little 
people  a  top,  and  demanded  what  they  were  going  to 
Jiave  now. 

"  A  Objeck  Lesson,"  was  the  unanimous  answer. 

"  What  is  the  plan  of  the  system  ?  " 

"It  is  a  system  of  drawin'  out!"  shouted  (by  rote) 
fifty  shrill  voices  at  once. 

"  There,  that's  right ;  a  system  of  drawing  out,"  said 
Miss  Sophia,  with  a  glance  toward  Amos  ;  "  now  answer 
singly  as  I  call  upon  you.  Who  was  the  inventor  of  the 
system  ?  " 

« Pest  —  pest  —  pest "  —  said  a  little  fellow,  with  a 
silver  lisp. 

"  Next  ?  "  said  the  teacher. 

"  Pestilence  ! "  shouted  a  fearless  girl,  with  a  curly 
head. 

"  This  child  has  not  been  in  school  long,"  remarked 
the  Garr,  explanatorily.  "  Next  ?  " 

"  Mithter  Lozzy  ! "  exclaimed  a  sinister-looking  small 
boy,  from  a  suit  of  clothes,  in  which  well  nigh  everything 
was  worn  out  —  but  the  patches. 

"  That's  right  —  Pestalozzi/'  said  the  teacher.  "  You 
see,  my  dear  children,  as  I  have  often  told  you,  intelli- 
gence and  virtue  are  not  always  with  the  rich !  " 

Elevating  the  top  again,  she  continued  :  "  Now  what 
do  I  hold  this  by?" 

Several  little  hands  went  up,  in  token  that  their 
owners  could  tell,  if  they  dared. 

"Well,  what  do  I  hold  it  by?" 


AND   HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  73 

"  By  your  hand, "  was  the  answer. 

"Next!" 

"  By  your  thumb  and  finger." 

"  Next ! " 

"  By  the  peg  !"  said  the  confident  voice  of  the  prema- 
ture little  girl,  who  had  opened  the  door  to  the  visitor. 

"  Right !  "  observed  Miss  Garr,  triumphantly.  "  Now 
who  can  tell  me  the  technical  (this  to  children ! )  name 
of  the  peculiar  form  of  the  top  ?  "  Turning  to  Amos, 
she  remarked  :  "  You  will  certainly  be  surprised  at  the 
originality  of  some  of  their  answers ! " 

"  Come,  the  technical  name  of  the  peculiar  form  of 
this  top  ?  " 

Only  one  hand  went  up.  To  Amos,  sotto  voce :  "  Now 
listen  !  —  for  something  philosophical."  Then  to  the 
owner  of  the  hand,  the  boy  with  the  panoply  of  patches : 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  Sammy  ?  " 

"  Teacher,  please  may  —  may  I  go  out  ?  " 

This  peripatetic  philosophy  was  too  much  for  the 
composure  of  the  two  adults.  The  Object  Lesson  was 
discontinued. 

"  Children,  you  may  take  your  slates  and  write  what 
you  please^  but  don't  interrupt  me  by  any  questions," 
said  Miss  Garr,  as  she  shouldered  her  pick-axe,  figura- 
tively speaking,  and  contemplated  the  outcroppings  of 
Amos  Dixon's  pale  face  —  "  The  poor  fellow,"  thought 
she,  "  is  evidently  troubled  by  my  affectionate  conduct 
toward  Mr.  Schmerling,  the  other  evening  at  the  ball. 
Well,  I'll  make  him  happy  and  draw  him  out,  too  !  " 

«  How  did  I  like  the  ball  ?  I  should  have  liked  it 
better,  if  I  had  had  better  company.  I  was  obliged  to  be 
with  that  Schmerling,  the  whole  evening,  —  that  stupid 
Dutchman  I" 


74  GLOVEKSON 

"  What !  Mr.  Schmerling  stupid  ?  "  exclaimed  Amos. 

"  Certainly.  Whenever  he  did  say  anything,  which 
was  not  often  —  it  was  so  commonplace  ! " 

"  Why,  to  my  eyes  he  appeared  the  greatest  gentleman 
in  the  room." 

"  Ah !  the  jealous,  designing  rascal !  "  was  the  mental 
exclamation  of  Sophia ;  while  the  angels  might  have  seen 
the  gleam  of  her  descending  pick-axe,  as  she  said, 
aloud  :  "  I  wouldn't  marry  Mr.  Schmerling,  if  he  were  a 
nobleman." 

"Indeed?"  observed  Amos,  unconcernedly. 

"  By  the  way,"  she  continued,  "  isn't  it  perfectly  shock- 
ing how  people  are  marrying  of  late  ?  I  see  by  the 
morning  paper,  that  there  were  a  hundred  marriages  in 
this  city  alone,  last  month." 

"  That  is  a  subject  that  comes  home  to  some  of  us, 
now,"  sighed  Amos,  as  if  thinking  aloud. 

«  What,  Mr.  Dixon  ?  " 

"  Why,  marriage." 

"  I  don't  really  know,"  said  the  school-mistress,  with  a 
smirk,  as  she  withdrew  the  sharp  eyes  which  had  trans- 
fixed Amos,  and  held  him  up,  like  a  blue-bottle  fly,  to 
her  contemplation. 

"  There  may  be  another  one  soon  ;  mayn't  there  ?  " 
asked  Amos. 

"  Another  what,  Mr.  Dixon  ?  " 

"  Why,  marriage,  of  course." 

There  was  a  flush  on  Miss  Garr's  face  —  not  so  much 
of  maidenly  modesty,  as  of  unexpected  success.  She 
did  not  think  it  proper,  just  then,  to  look  into  the  visitor's 
countenance,  or  she  would-  surely  have  been  puzzled  to 
find  it  paler,  instead  of  more  crimson,  after  such  a 
speech. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  75 

"I  don't  really  know,"  she  simpered  between  two 
squirms,  "  it  depends  a  great  deal "  — 

"I  have  always  expected  it,  ever  since  the  night  I 
called  on  you  at  Mrs.  Clayton's." 

"  What  gentle  violence  !  "  thought  Miss  Sophia,  as  in 
her  heart  she  cursed  the  little  children  whose  presence 
prevented  her  fainting  into  the  arms  of  the  object  of  so 
long  a  search.  As  it  was,  she  could  only  lean  her  head 
fafhtly  in  her  hand,  and  look  away  from  him,  in  ecstatic 
silence. 

"  Yes,"  mused  Amos,  "  I  have  always  expected  it." 

"  But  then  this  comes  so  sudden  upon  me,  Mr.  Dixon,-— 
that,  —  that  —  you'll  excuse  these  tears." 

"  Then  it  grieves  you,  Miss  Garr  ?  "  said  Amos,  looking 
iiito  her  face  for  the  first  time  during  the  preceding 
conversation. 

"  Not  exactly,  Mr.  Dixon  ;  but  I  —  I  "— 

"  Never  like,  I  suppose,  to  part  with  an  old  pupil,"  ob- 
served Amos,  to  help  her  out. 

"  That  is  one  thing,"  sobbed  Miss  Garr,  glancing  at 
the  children  before  her,  who  were  now  deeply  interested 
in  the  scene.  The  little  girls  had  commenced  crying, 
too ;  and  the  little  boys  were  looking  daggers.  Sammy, 
the  peripatetic  of  rags,  shook  his  head  and  fist  at  the 
man  who  had  made  his  teacher  cry. 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Sophia  Garr,  through  her  tears,  "  to 
think  I  shall  never  meet  them  all  again  !  " 

"  It  will  not  be  a  runaway  match  ?  "  demanded  Amos 
in  surprise. 

"  No,  certainly  not,"  was  her  answer. 

"  Mrs.  Clayton  knows  of  it,  and  will  consent,  of  course  ?  " 

"  She  knows  of  it ;  and  has  tacitly  consented,"  whim- 
pered Sophia,  not  very  sorry  that  she  had  made  the  dis- 


76  GLOVERSON 

closure  of  her  expectations  to  Mrs.  Clayton,  as  it  were, 
on  trust. 

"  Then  you  will  certainly  meet  them  again  at  her 
house." 

"  Meet  them  at  her  house ! "  exclaimed  Sophia,  forget- 
ting her  tears  in  her  surprise.  "  What  on  earth  will  Mrs. 
Clayton  do  with  fifty  children  in  her  house  ?  " 

"  Are  they  expected  to  have  fifty  children  ?  "  demand- 
ed Amos,  in  stupefaction.  • 

"  They  ?  —  who  ?  —  what  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  Why,  George  Lang  and  Amelia  Clayton  !  Haven't 
we  both  been  talking  about  them  all  along  ?  " 

If  Sophia  Garr  ever  did  come  near  fainting,  it  was 
then  and  there.  The  long-sought  ingot  at  her  touch 
had  turned  to  sand-stone,  and  almost  crushed  her.  Her 
first  thought  was  an  angry  one ;  and  —  so  strange  is  hu- 
man nature  —  it  took  the  innocent  Amelia  for  an  object. 

"  Humph  !  cry  for  such  an  old  pupil !  She  never  can 
marry  George  Lang.  He  wouldn't  have  her." 

"  Then  they  are  not  engaged  ?  "  asked  Amos. 

"  Certainly  not ;  such  a  thing  was  never  thought  of. 
Mr.  Lang  is  the  business  agent  of  her  mother." 

Amos  believed  he  would  go  ;  and  he  went  rather  sud- 
denly. "  I  must  find  a  back  street,"  thought  he,  "  where 
I  can  halloo  !  " 

Having,  in  reality,  thus  relieved  himself,  he  bent  his 
steps  toward  his  own  little  room.  His  fever  and  ague 
were  cured,  without  the  help  of  blue  mass.  He  could 
now  think  of  Amelia  with  warmth ;  and  of  George 
Lang  without  coldness.  Hope  had  risen  to  him  out  of 
the  ashes  of  Miss  Garr's  anger. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  77 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PREPARATORY. 

THE  next  morning,  Amos  Dixon  went  to  his  work  as 
usual.  To  him,  in  the  counting-room,  at  about  ten 
o'clock,  entered  Andrew  Gloverson. 

"What!  you  here,  Dixon?"  exclaimed  the  wheezy 
N  merchant,  in  amazement ;  and  a  fat  avalanche  of  under- 
jaw  fell  suddenly,  disclosing  a  glacier  of  white  teeth, 
with  its  yawning  chasm  of  open  mouth. 

"  Yes,  I  am  here,"  was  the  placid  answer  of  Amos. 

"  But  what  are  you  here  for  ?  I'd  like  to  know  whether 
I  have  any  judgment  at  all ;  I  said  yesterday  you  were 
sick." 

"  I  was  ;  but  I've  got  over  it." 

"  I'm  afraid  this  is  some  of  your  d d  goodness, 

Dixon ! "  and  Mr.  Gloverson  shook  his  head  incredu- 
lously. "  Did  the  blue  mass  do  it  for  you  ?  —  eh  ! " 

This  "  eh"  was  rather  in  triumph  than  in  interroga- 
tion. 

"  No  ;  I  didn't  have  to  take  medicine  at  all ! " 

Down  again  came  the  merchant's  heavy  under-jaw. 
The  upper  part  of  his  face,  taken  with  his  chin,  thus  dis- 
connected, looked  one  great  obese  exclamation  point  of 
surprise.  The  power  of  speech  was  finally  restored  to 
him :  — 

"  Now,  look  here,  Dixon,  sir,  you  get  out  of  here  !    Do 


78  GLOVERSON 

you  think  I'm  going  back  on  my  own  judgment  ?  When 
I  say  a  man  is  sick,  he  is  sick  ! " 

"  But  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life." 

"  Oh  you  be  d —  you  —  you  Dixon,  sir.  If  you'd 
taken  blue  mass,  it  would  have  been  a  different  thing.  I 
gave  you  a  week  to  get  well  in  ;  you  have  done  your  job 
in  too  short  a  time.  That's  overwork,  Dixon,  sir.  You 
know  I  don't  overwork  my  employees.  Now  you  get  out 
of  here  ;  and  don't  let  me  see  you  till  your  week  is  up." 

Large  drops  had  risen  to  the  brow  of  Mr.  Andrew 
Gloverson.  The  Castalia  of  his  eloquence,  you  see,  was 
unusually  troubled.  • 

Amos  saw  that  he  must  retreat,  and,  as  he  did  so, 
launched  this  Parthian  arrow  of  speech  : 

"  Well,  my  summer  week's  vacation  commenced  yes- 
terday." 

The  arrow  had  pierced  the  enemy's  affectionate  heart, 
as  will  be  seen  by  the  following  exclamation,  which 
reached  the  ears  of  Amos  as  he  disappeared :  — 

«  Oh  you  be  d d ! " 

The  cashier  was  for  some  time  at  a  loss  whither  to  go, 
or  with  what  to  busy  himself.  After  much  deliberation, 
he  resolved  to  go  and  find  Mr.  Schmerling,  and  see 
how  that  gentleman  amused  himself  with  nothing  to  do. 
He  liked  Karl,  and  besides,  reasoned  Mr.  Dixon  to  him- 
self, Karl  visited  at  Mrs.  Clayton's,  where  Amelia  had 
never  yet  invited  him  to  call. 

Mr.  Schmerling  was  not  at  his  hotel.  So  Amos,  re- 
membering now  that  he  had  often  seen  the  sign  of 
George  Lang,  on  Montgomery  Street,  resolved  that  he. 
would  look  for  Karl  at  the  office  of  the  Stock  and  Money 
Broker. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  79 

Entering  the  front  room  of  this  prosperous  establish- 
ment, Amos  recognized,  in  the  wiry  Mr.  Shallop,  the 
same  gentleman  who  had  made  such  an  unceremonious 
entry  into  Mrs.  Clayton's  drawing-room,  several  weeks 
ago. 

"  When  will  Mr.  Lang  be  in,  sir  ?  " 

"  He's  just  gone  into  his  private  office,"  answered  Mr. 
Shallop,  his  small  eye  running,  like  an  electric  current, 
from  Mr.  Dixon's  face  down  the  crease  of  one  of  his 
pantaloon  legs,  and  up  that  of  the  other,  to  the  face  again : 
"Won't  I  do,  sir?" 

Eying,  in  his  turn,  this  pigmy  Gothic  of  manhood, 
from  gable  to  ground  and  ground  to  gable,  as  if  to  deter- 
mine the  question,  Amos  replied :  "  No,  I  believe,  sir, 
you  won't  do." 

"  Well,  sir,  knock  at  that  door,  sir,"  and,  in  the  next 
instant,  Mr.  Nelson  Shallop  was^  again  intently  climbing 
about  over  his  accounts. 

Amos  entered  the  private  office,  as  he  was  bidden  from 
the  inside,  and,  sure  enough,  Mr.  Schmerling  was  there. 
Slightly  embarrassed,  Mr.  Gloverson's  cashier  took  the 
seat  offered  him.  Was  he  not  in  the  presence,  too,  of  the 
man  of  whom  he  had  unjustly  been  jealous  ?  "  By  the 
way,"  began  the  artful  Mr.  Dixon,  "  you  will  excuse  the 
liberty  I  take,  Mr.  Lang,  but  I  really  want  to  congratu- 
late you  on  your  good  fortune  of  some  weeks  back." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  Mr.  Dixon ; "  and  the  broker 
was  as  pleased  as  he  looked  to  be.  It  was  an  ill-wind, 
etc.,  he  reasoned  to  himself.  This  fellow  would  not  have 
coine  here,  if  he  were  not  interested  in  stocks.  He  must 
have  some  money  laid  by  to  invest. 

"  It  is  astonishing  how  Americans  can  make  money," 
said  Karl. 


80  GLOVERSON 

"  Yes,  it  was  rather  a  lucky  strike,"  remarked  George 
Lang  carelessly,  for  the  benefit  of  Amos,  of  course.  "  My 
friend  Mr.  Schmerling  and  I  were  just  speaking  about  it." 

"  There  seems,  really,  to  be  as  much  gold  in  stocks,  as 
there  is  in  the  mines  themselves,"  observed  Amos. 

"  That  is  just  what  I  tell  my  old  friend  here,"  said 
George,  delighted  at  the  turn  things  were  taking. 

"  But  then,  the  vineyard,  George,  the  vineyard,"  broke 
in  Karl,  dreamily.  "  Think  of  a  Rhine  Valley  in  a  re- 
public, and  the  luscious  ingots  of  the  vine  —  the  quartz 
of  God's  golden  sunshine  ! " 

There  was  no  sunshine  in  the  face  of  George  Lang, 
at  this  moment.  It  seems  that  the  broker's  very  confi- 
dential and  lucrative  offer,  in  connection  with  the  *  Dor- 
cas '  mine,  had  thus  far  been  powerless  to  blight  the 
Sonoma  vineyard  which  flourished  in  the  German's  pic- 
turesque imagination. 

"  But  I  don't  think  much  money  can  be  made  at  ranch- 
ing, in  California,"  remarked  Mr.  Dixon. 

"  This  is  a  capital  fellow,  and  will  be  of  use,"  thought 
George  Lang  to  himself. 

"  Well,  we'll  see  for  ourselves  in  a  week  or  so,"  Karl 
said,  "  when  we  go  up  to  Sonoma." 

"  Very  well,"  rejoined  the  broker ;  "  wouldn't  you  like 
to  accompany  us,  Mr.  Dixon  ?  " 

"  Yes,  do,  Mr.  Dixon ! "  exclaimed  Karl,  rejoiced  at  the 
idea  of  more  company.  "  It  will  remind  us  so  much  of 
our  jolly  old  student-tours  in  that  other  land  of  the 
grape." 

"  I  think  I  will,  or,  I  am  sure  I  would,"  Amos  replied, 
"  if  you  were  going  right  away.  My  summer  vacation 
commenced  to-day ;  and  I  came  here  this  morning  to  see 
if  Mr.  Schmerling  wouldn't  "  —  • 


AND   HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  81 

"  Why  not  go  to  Sonoma,  to-morrow  ?  "  interrupted 
Mr.  Lang ;  "  we  can  all  be  ready  for  the  boat  at  noon." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Karl. 

Not  long  afterwards,  Mr.  Dixon  took  his  departure, 
agreeing  to  meet  Lang  and  Schmerling  at  the  Sonoma 
boat  the  next  day;  and  thinking  it  very  lucky  indeed 
that  he  had  found  so  pleasant  a  way  of  putting  in  the 
week  of  his  exile  from  the  presence  of  Mr.  Gloverson. 
"  I  might  be  a  little  ill  after  all,"  Amos  thought.  He  did 
not,  he  was  sure,  feel  so  well  after  meeting  Mr.  Lang. 
There  was  something  so  cold  and  heartless  in  that  gen- 
tleman's ways.  At  any  rate,  Mr.  Dixon  contended,  he 
needed  exercise.  A  long  walk  would  do  him  good  ;  and 
that  is  why,  of  course,  he  went  a  mile  out  of  his  way 
home,  via  the  Folsom  Street  docks,  and  past  the  "  ele- 
gant house,"  said  to  be  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Clayton. 

"  George,  I  am  glad  that  I  know  Mr.  Dixon,"  remarked 
Karl,  after  Amos  had  left  the  private  office. 

The  broker  eyed  his  old  friend  for  a  moment,  with  a 
look  of  one  suddenly  roused  from  a  brown  study :  "  Dix- 
on ?  oh  !  he  is  an  oddity." 

"  Yes,  George,  an  honest  man  always  is." 

"  It  must  take  a  long  time  to  make  an  honest  man, 
like  him,"  rejoined  Lang ;  "  they  get  so  wrinkled  before 
they  are  done." 

"Wrinkled  goodness,  George,  is  better  than  smooth 
villainy.  It  is  not  in  the  polished  marble  of  Paros,  but 
in  the  rugged  quartz  that  you  look  for  gold." 

"  Well,"  and  the  light  upon  the  broker's  face  was  as 
that  upon  the  sculptor's,  when  the  clay  before  him  yields 
to  his  skillful  manipulations  some  unexpected  success; 
the  same  gleam  of  easy  triumph  was  Mr.  Lang's,  only 


82  GLOVERSON 

more  sinister  to  look  upon,  —  "  well,"  pursued  he,  "  it  is 
queer  what  jammed,  battered  trumpets  this  goodness 
often  speaks  through." 

"  Had  I  not  known  you  so  long,  George,  I  would 
think  this  sneer  in  earnest." 

"  Ah  !  I  have  you  there,  old  fellow,"  Lang  exclaimed, 
with  a  laugh,  "  goodness  generally  blows  a  cracked 
bugle  in  this  world." 

Schmerling  did  not  seem  to  hear  this  remark.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  in  the  rapt,  dreamy  way  so  frequent 
with  him  —  his  whole  face  like  one  of  those  sweet  pic- 
tures of  Domenichino,  which,  from  their  quaint  old 
golden  frames,  have  sped  their  saintly  smiles  from  age 
to  age  and  century  to  century.  For,  about  Karl,  too, 
was  the  nimbus  of  this  faintly  uttered  thought :  — 

"  It  was  not  in  the  sublime  organ-swells  of  the  thun- 
der, or  in  the  horror  of  the  earthquake,  or  in  the  rage  of 
the  whirlwind,  but  in  the  '  still  small  voice,'  that  the 
Almighty  himself  spoke  to  the  prophet  on  Mount  Horeb." 

"  But  to  come  back  to  the  point,  now,"  observed  the 
stock  broker,  still  in  the  best  of  humor,  but  with  the 
same  under-current  of  design  that  had  floated  his  share 
of  the  foregoing  conversation,  "to  come  back  to  the 
point,  now,  this  Dixon  has  no  spirit,  and  you  know  it.  " 

"  No  spirit  ?  I  have  not  seen  any  man  impose  on  him 
yet." 

"  Then  his  intellect,  —  you  can't  think  he  has  any  of 
that,  too?" 

"  Most  assuredly  he  has,"  said  Karl,  "  we  have  seen 
nothing  to  convince  us  to  the  contrary.  All  his  faux 
pas  have  come,  not  from  too  little  head,  but  from  too 
much  heart  —  too  much  natural  politeness,  that  is,  be- 
nevolence ;  —  but  I  have  an  engagement  at  the  hotel 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  83 

(rising  and  approaching  the  door  of  the  private  office). 
No,  George,  believe  me,  Mr.  Dixon  is  no  fool." 

"  There  goes  one,  though ! "  muttered  Lang,  as  the 
door  closed  between  him  and  Karl.  "  He  has  a  high 
opinion  of  that  Dixon.  That's  just  what  I  wanted  to 
know.  Dixon  on  my  side  of  the  argument,  and  down 
comes  the  vineyard,  and  up  go  stocks  —  yes,  twenty 
thousand  dollars  premium ! " 

And  the  broker  busied  himself  about  his  papers, 
pausing  occasionally,  to  think  how  he  might  also  add  the 
earnings  of  Amos  —  if  there  were  any  —  to  his  side  of 
the  milligramme  scales  of  argument. 


84  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN   WHICH   THE    UNITIES    ARE    VIOLATED. 

GEORGE  LANG,  Karl  Schmerling,  and  Amos  Dixon 
were  on  board  of  the  little  steamer,  as  she  pushed  off 
into  a  haze  of  two  elements.  For,  on  that  noon  of  early 
summer,  it  was  hard  to  tell  where  the  water  and  the  sun- 
shine met.  The  beautiful  bay  was  unruffled ;  yet  there 
was  an  invisible  frost-work  of  balm  in  the  atmosphere. 
The  cool  water  and  the  warm  sun  seemed  to  have 
mingled  in  mid  air,  by  some  strange  principle  of  at- 
traction ;  and,  as  the  three  sat  on  the  open  deck,  they 
imbibed  a  sort  of  agro-dolce  of  iced  sunshine.  They 
sailed  through  an  abiding  mirage,  and  breathed  it  in. 

They  passed  Alcatraz  on  the  left  —  Alcatraz,  where 
Nature  built  the  first  fortress,  in  the  defense  of  her  own 
beauty.  No  ship,  entering  the  Golden  Gate,  has  dared 
to  bring  tidings  of  a  more  beautiful  bay,  beyond  the  seas. 

Farther  along,  two  lines  of  grand  hills  opened  up  to 
them ;  and  these,  on  one  side,  led  like  a  giant  stair-way, 
up  to  the  distant  mountains.  He  who  has  been  be- 
calmed in  the  Mediterranean,  and  has  floated  past  the 
bleak  hills  of  Valencia,  through  the  glorious  sunsets,  be- 
yond the  coasts  of  Andalusia,  to  the  "  Pillars  of  Her- 
cules "  —  may  form  a  shadowy  idea  of  this  scenery  ;  but 
there  is  really  nothing  like  it  in  the  world  elsewhere. 
The  trees  may  have  been  cut  down  on  the  rugged  high- 
lands of  Spain.  They  rarely  grdW  on  those  of  California. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  85' 

There  is  a  gigantic  jealousy  in  the  rude  breasts  of  our 
occidental  hills.  They  would  suffer  nothing  to  come  be- 
tween them  and  the  sun,  their  "Heavenly  bridegroom 
with  golden  locks." 

A  variation  in  the  course  of  the  little  steamer  would 
suddenly  open  up  long  dreamy  inlets,  that  were  lost  in 
mazy  turns,  like  one  of  Karl's  reveries.  On  the  uplands 
of  one  side,  bared  of  the  merest  bush,  could  be  traced, 
as  on  a  map,  the  track  of  the  winds  for  centuries.  On 
the  other  protected  side,  struggled^  into  life  the  low, 
scrubby  manzanita,  madrone,  and  California  lilac,  almost 
hidden  in  the  laughing  dimples  of  the  hills  —  so  low  and 
sparse,  indeed,  that  Nature  seemed  trying  to  hug  them 
closer  to  her  bosom. 

The  landscape  wore  its  loveliest  tint  —  not  green,  and 
not  sere.  The  freshness,  succeeding  the  rainy  season, 
was  gone  ;  but  the  withered  decrepitude  of  the  long 
drought  had  not  yet  come.  Everything  stood  poised  in 
rich  ripeness.  The  California  year  was  in  her  early 
womanhood. 

The  little  party  were  alive  to  the  scene,  but  each,  of 
course,  in  his  own  way.  There  was  a  Saxon  solidity  of 
pleasure  and  thankfulness  in  the  heart  of  Amos ;  it  fol- 
lowed his  eye  up  the  steeps  of  the  distant  mountains, 
nearer  to  heaven.  To  him,  Monte  Diabolo,  with  its 
gigantic  slopes  and  mighty  peak  lost  in  the  haze  of  a 
summer  cloud,  was  the  sublime  pathway  of  the  mind  up 
towards  the  thought  of  Deity. 

This  is  not  Amos's  description  of  his  feelings  ;  for  he 
said  nothing.  His  soul  went  out  in  an  aspiration  of 
gratitude,  compelled  by  a  religion  preached  from  the 
mountain  tops,  the  waters,  and  the  sunshine.  This 
flimsy  word-ladder  has  been  builded  in  the  vain  at- 
tempt to  follow  after  him. 


86  GLOVERSON 

Nor  was  this  all  he  felt  or  thought.  In  the  natural 
pauses  of  exalted  emotion,  his  gratitude  was  large  enough 
to  take  in  his  portly  employer,  Mr.  Andrew  Gloverson, 
to  whose  rough  kindness  he  was  indebted  for  the  privi- 
lege of  being  where  he  was.  The  reader  may  have 
noticed  that  kind  hearts  go  in  small  companies,  like 
mating  birds.  They  attract  one  another.  The  wicked 
form  the  galaxy  whose  infinite  numbers  fill  the  highways 
of  the  sky  ;  while  the- good  hearts  stand  out  in  bright  con- 
stellations. But  Andrew  Gloverson,  by  himself,  was,  to 
Amos  Dixon,  the  Great  Bear  in  the  heaven  of  kindness. 

Then  the  eye  and  mind  of  Amos,  reverting  to  the 
deck,  would  dwell  stealthily  on  George  Lang.  He  won- 
dered what  a  queer  sort  of  a  man  the  broker  must  be, 
who  did  not  want  to  marry  Amelia  Clayton. 

George  Lang  looked  upon  the  scene  as  Achilles,  in 
the  prime  of  manhood,  might  have  looked  upon  the 
elaborate  tapestries  of  Helen.  Pretty  work  indeed ;  but 
he  enjoyed  it  better  when  he  was  younger.  The  day, 
however,  he  considered  as  a  good  omen.  The  sun  had 
shone  upon  the  opening  of  his  scheme.  If  he  was  thril- 
led by  the  rugged  mountains  at  all,  it  was  when  they  re- 
minded him  of  the  warfare  of  the  old  Titans  —  when  he 
considered  them  piled  up  in  some  rebellion  of  Nature. 

Thus,  on  the  same  heights  where  George  Lang  would 
have  stormed  heaven,  Amos  would  have  wrestled  with 
the  angel  till  it  blessed  him. 

Karl  Schmerling  seemed  a  part  of  the  scene,  so  in- 
tensely was  he  absorbed  in  it.  Sometimes  it  appeared  to 
him  a  fairy  landscape  painted  of  molten  jasper  and  ame- 
thyst, sapphire,  and  chrysoprase,  on  a  canvas  spun  of 
sunbeams ;  but  the  background  of  hills  was  covered  with 
shadows,  which,  to  his  steady  gaze,  grew  darker  and 


AND   HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  87 

darker,  till  they  swallowed  up  his  fairy  landscape ;  and, 
for  relief,  he  turned  his  eyes  back  to  the  deck  of  the 
steamer. 

Reassured,  he  would  again  look  forth  upon  what 
seemed  Nature  in  her  calm  siesta  —  when,  of  a  sudden, 
the  whole  scene  would  appear  as  his  own  soul  spread  out 
before  him,  by  some  strange  metempsychosis  of  oriental 
belief;  but,  as  he  drifted  out  upon  some  rivulet  of  a- 
dream,  or  followed  some  flecked  cloud  of  a  fancy,  he  was 
sure  to  .end  in  the  sombre  presentiments  of  the  shadows 
on  the  mountains. 

Turning  again,  his  mind,  too,  would  go  the  natural, 
pilgrimage  of  religion,  up  the  distant  steeps.  It  was, 
s  however,  the  religion  of  old  cathedrals,  dimly  illumined 
through  windows  stained  with  the  uncertain  light  of  saint- 
ly lives  —  the  beautiful  religion  of  carved  pyx  and  mo- 
saicked crypt,  of  organ -peals  and  Vesper  hym  s  —  in  short, 
the  religion  of  dreams.  But  wheresoever  he  built  his  airy 
basilica,  the  dove,  from  over  the  chancel,  dropped  such 
shadows  from  its  wings  that  the  lamps  were  hidden  at 
the  shrines,  and  a  spectre  gloom  of  presentiment  filled 
the  aisles  and  arches. 

Finally,  turning  to  George  Lang,  he  said,  "  I  have  a 
strange  warning  of  some  impending  evil." 

The  broker  was  troubled.  "  So  have  I,  Karl ;  "  and  he 
had. 

"  The'  brighter  the  light,  the  deeper  the  shade,"  sighed 
Karl.  "  In  laying  my  heart  '  against  Nature's  own,'  I 
have  felt  the*  chill  of  the  shadows  more  to-day  than  I  ever 
did  before." 

George's  presentiment  had  arisen  from  the  face  of  his 
friend.  The  succeeding  silence  was  scarcely  broken  till 
the  party  left  the  steamer  for  the  Sonoma  stage.  The 


88  GLOVERSON 

dust  then  impeded  conversation,  and  almost  everything 
else  but  the  headlong  speed  of  the  coach. 

A  very  good  dinner,  to  the  accompaniment  of  native 
wine,  was  achieved  at  the  little  hotel  of  Sonoma.  Till 
the  carriage  for  which  they  were  waiting  arrived,  nothing 
remarkable  occurred ;  only  a  waiter  insisted  that  Amos 
was  a  Landsmann  of  his,  and  addressed  him  repeatedly  in 
-German,  to  the  no  little  discomfiture  of  Mr.  Gloverson's 
cashier. 

The  carriage  they  were  awaiting  came  at  last.  It  be- 
longed to  Captain  Tambol,  an  acquaintance  of  Lang's, 
,who,  hearing  of  the  projected  trip,  had  prevailed  upon 
the  two  friends  to  be  his  guests  during  their  stay.  The 
captain  himself  was  the  driver.  He  was  a  medium-sized 
man,  whose  enthusiasm  for  the  culture  of  the  grape  found 
some  expression  in  a  face  rouged  by  the  bottled  sunshine 
of  many  a  harvest.  Upon  his  nose,  in  particular,  the 
wine-god  had  wrought  deftly,  in  basso  relievo.  There,  the 
vintages  of  the  dead  years  had  left  their  monumental 
pimples. 

On  learning  that  there  were  three  instead  of  two  in 
the  party,  the  captain's  gratification  was,  by  a  progres- 
sion of  his  own,  simply  multiplied  by  three  ;  and  his  hos- 
pitality was  large  enough  for  an  indefinite  series,  with  the 
same  ratio. 

After  a  ride  of  seven  or  eight  miles  through  the  dusk 
and  early  moonlight,  "  Lurley  Ranch,"  the  princely  do- 
main of  the  captain,  was  reached.  The  house,  an  ele- 
gant villa,  stood  on  a  knoll ;  and,  as  the  excursionists  dis- 
covered the  next  morning,  commanded  a  view  of  miles 
of  valley.  All  they  observed  now  was,  that  it  was  en- 
tered through  a  flower-garden,  whose  collected  sweets 
went  out  in  a  viva  voce  greeting  to  the  moonlight.  A 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  89 

supper  was  already  waiting  on  the  porch,  behind  trellis- 
work  overgrown  with  clambering  roses.  And  Mrs.  Tam- 
bol  was  the  presiding  priestess  of  this  grotto. 

Mrs.  Tambol  may  be  described  as  the  mind  of  which 
her  husband  was  the  body.  She  was  Captain  Tambol 
idealized.  In  her  face  hospitality  lit  up  a  pleasant  smile 
—  the  garland  to  your  goblet ;  not  a  beacon  light  to  warn 
you  of  the  place  where  many  a  bottle  had  been  wrecked. 
She  was  all  neatness,  elegance,  and  refinement :  he,  all 
bustle,  wassail,  and  hard-fisted  kindness.  And  yet,  it 
was  a  pleasure  to  see  them  together.  They  seemed  to 
fit  each  other.  They  reminded  you  of  the  green  leaf 
and  the  rose,  on  the  lattice  of  their  own  porch.  They 
were  a  perfect  contrast,  which  is  perfect  harmony ;  and 
that  was  the  only  issue  of  their  long  married  life. 

The  supper  over,  the  guests  were  not  permitted  to  go 
to  their  beds,  till  the  table  was  well  covered  with  empty 
bottles.  As  Amos  struck  his  pillow  that  night,  he 
thought  he  would  advise  Mr.  Schmerling  to  purchase 
a  vineyard.  A  slight  headache  the  next  morning,  how- 
ever, caused  him  to  hesitate,  and  he  preserved  a  strict 
silence  during  breakfast. 

After  that  meal  the  captain  observed,  "  Now,  gentle- 
men, your  horses  are  ready.  We  will  spend  the  day  in 
visiting  our  neighbors  of  the  valley.  Every  one  thinks 
his  wine  the  best ;  and  I  am  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
But  I  am  going  to  take  no  unfair  advantage  of  your 
judgments  ;  so  we  will  call  on  my  cellar  last." 

And  they  galloped  away  over  hill  and  dale,  with  the 
Sonoma  Creek  on  one  side,  and  sunny  vineyards  on  the 
other ;  and  the  far-off  mountains  towering  above  all. 
Crops  were  discussed,  cellars  explored,  and  wines  upon 
wines  tasted.  It  would  take  a  steady  head  to  withstand 


90  GLOVERSON 

such  a  flow  of  hospitality  as  met  them  in  the  course  of 
the  day.  The  genial  husbandmen  of  the  valley  seemed  to 
be  conscious  that  God  gives  no  charter  with  the  rain  and 
sunshine.  The  manna  they  had  gathered  belonged  to  all. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  party  returned  to  the  captain's. 
They  were,  to  say  the  least,  in  the  merriest  of  moods. 
The  path  from  the  house  to  the  wine-cellar  crossed 
Sonoma  Creek  —  here  a  deep  stream,  and  spanned  only 
by  a  narrow  plank.  From  the  general  elegance  of  the 
surroundings,  a  handsome  bridge  might  have  been  ex- 
pected. Herein  was  the  dark  design  of  the  captain. 
The  way  to  the  cellar  was  as  easy  as  the  descensus  Averni, 
but  inexperienced  drinkers  generally  fell  into  the  water 
on  the  way  back. 

The  captain's  was  one  of  the  largest  cellars  yet  vis- 
ited ;  and  it  was  remarkable  how  many  "  particularly 
choice  "  wines  he  recommended  to  their  unbiased  at- 
tention. "Just  one  other  kind,"  and,  after  that,  "just 
one  other  kind  "  had  been  tasted,  until  it  was  impossible 
for  Amos  to  say  exactly  where  the  roof  of  the  cellar 
commenced,  or  where  the  casks  and  bottles  left  off.  On 
coming  into  the  open  air  again,  things  to  him  were  even 
more  confused.  "  I  have  been  using  these  eyes  for  the 
last  twenty-eight  years,"  said  Amos,  "  and  they  never 
served  me  so  poorly  before." 

Arriving  at  the  plank,  and  conscious  that  he  could 
never  cross  it,  he  proposed  that  they  should  try  the  recu- 
perative virtues  of  the  swimming  bath,  which  was  one  of 
the  luxuries  of  the  magnificent  host. 

In  the  bath-house,  Amos  was  unusually  communicative. 
He  launched  out  into  what  he  said  was  a  "  funny  story," 
and  after  several  parentheses,  broke  off  suddenly  on  to 
the  subject  of  love.  In  the  mean  time  the  rest  of  the 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  91 

party  had  disrobed  and  were  swimming  about  joyously. 
Amos  had  all  this  while  been  struggling  to  untie  his 
cravat :  "  Love's  what's  thematterwithme  (hie),"  observed 
he,  between  divers  tugs  at  the  knot  in  his  neck-tie,  and 
hiccups  at  the  knots  in  his  speech.  "  Love  is  an  'noblin' 
passion,  —  a  d'vine  pash  —  (hie).  I  love  a  being  who  is  a 
noble,  hie,  and  d'vine  —  no,  not  a  woman  —  but  a  seraph, 
hie,  and  her  name  is  hie  "  — 

Here  the  cravat  broke,  and  Amos  having  taken 

more  note  of  time,  than  of  what  he  had  accomplished, 
plunged  headlong  into  the  water,  clothes,  hat,  boots, 
and  all. 

Just  as  he  was  rescued  from  drowning,  the  dinner-bell 
rang.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Amos  was  better  pre- 
pared for  a  slab  in  the  Morgue,  than  for  an  appearance 
at  the  dinner-table  before  the  ladies  ;  for  several  of  the 
neighbors  had  been  invited,  in  honor  of  the  occasion. 
Yet  a  certain  maudlin  pride  had  taken  growth,  after  the 
wetting ;  and  Mr.  Dixon  expressed  a  confidence  in  his 
ability  to  do  justice  to  his  dinner.  So  the  host  went  sur- 
reptitiously to  the  house  for  dry  clothes  ;  and  finally,  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  Xmos  into  them,  and  a  place  at  the 
table,  where  he  looked  as  if  he  had  been  dressed  for  the 
arduous  role  of  a  scarecrow. 

All  went  merry  at  the  meal.  Such  a  second  flood  of 
talk  and  laughter  passed  over  the  reticent  Dixon,  that  he 
was  for  awhile  lost  to  notice. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Tambol,  after  she  had  seen  every 
one  abundantly  provided  for,  "  I  suppose  it  would  be 
useless  to  ask  you  where  you  have  been  to-day ;  since  you 
must  have  visited  all  our  neighbors  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  responded  the  captain,  "  we  have 
visited  everybody,  with  the  exception  you  know  of." 


92  GLOVERSON 

"  Then  we  have  skipped  some  of  your  neighbors  ? " 
demanded  George  Lang,  suspiciously  seeing  in  this  fact 
some  hidden  argument  against  vineyards  in  general. 

"  Yes ;  we  have  one  who  calls  himself  our  enemy." 

"  And  we  are  real  sorry  about  it,"  joined  in  Mrs. 
Tambol,  "  for  the  enmity  is  all  on  his  side." 

"  He  is  what  we  call  a  '  Piker,'  you  see,"  remarked  the 
captain,  quietly,  "  and  he  stole  some  of  our  sheep. 
Somehow  or  other,  he  refuses  to  be  forgiven  for  it.  We 
don't  care  so  much  about  losing  the  sheep ;  but  we  do 
about  losing  a  friend." 

"  Your  '  Piker,'  captain,"  said  Karl,  "  has  only  verified 
the  saying  of  the  old  Latin  sage  :  '  Whom  we  have  in- 
jured, we  hate.'  " 

"  But,  captain,"  observed  George,  "  I  would  hardly 
grieve  so  about  it.  In  fact,  I  never  learn  to  like  some 
friends  till  they  imagine  themselves  my  enemies.  I  dote 
on  a  good  enemy." 

"  Indeed  !  "  exclaimed  three  ladies  at  once. 

"  But  love,"  mumbled  Amos,  with  an  inebriate  synthe- 
sis of  which  spelling  can  convey  no  idea,  "  love's  adiffer- 
entmattftrintirely ! " 

Lang  regarded  the  last  speaker  for  a  moment,  then, 
turning  to  the  ladies,  with  a  knowing  smile,  observed : 
"  Not  so  different  a  matter  after  all.  It  is  only  another 
phase  of  the  same  phenomenon.  Love  is  divided  from 
friendship  by  a  thin  partition,  and  from  hatred  by  a 
thinner  one  still.  A  sigh  or  a  glance  may  let  one  into 
the  other.  If  I  were  to  write  a  play,  it  should  dwell 
much  upon  the  desperate  love  of  my  heroine  for,  say,  a 
consumptive  young  man,  whom  she  should  lay  out  on  a 
board,  in  the  fifth  act,  and  proceed  to  dissect  deliberately 
with  a  butcher-knife  —  loving  him  to  distraction  all  the 


AND   HIS   SILENT   PARTNERS.  93 

time,  but  carving  away,  nevertheless,  because  to  her 
strong  love  is  added  one  grain  of  offended  pride." 

"  He  has  been  in  the  wine-cellars  all  day,"  said  one 
lady,  in  a  low  voice,  to  another,  as  if  it  were  her  duty  to 
apologize. 

"  What  handsome  eyes  ! "  whispered  the  other  in  re- 
sponse. 

"  And  moustache  !  "  joined  in  the  third. 

Then  all  three  aloud  :  "  Oh  !  that  would  be  horrid !  " 

"  Yes,  but  perfectly  true  to  nature,"  was  Lang's  care- 
less answer. 

"  Oh  laws  !  Mr.  Lang,  you  don't  believe  it  ?  "  ejaculated 
A  one  of  the  aforesaid  three. 

"  Certainly  I  do.  It  would  only  be  an  extreme  case 
—  simply  human  nature  played  on  the  octaves  !  " 

"  'Oman,"  interpolated  Amos,  .among  the  stares  and 
smiles  of  the  entire  company,  "  'oman  is  the  (hie)  love- 
li'st  of  her  sex.  'Oman  is  the  gentl'st  (hie),  fm'st  part  of 
(hie)  of  man  !  " 

"  You  are  not  only  perspicacious,  but  right,  Mr. 
Dixon,"  continued  Lang,  with  a  wild  diablerie  in  his  eye. 
"  The  old  Aztecs,  on  the  outskirts  of  whose  aboriginal 
empire  we  now  are,  were  probably  the  greatest  lovers  of 
flowers  the  world  has  ever  seen  ;  yet  the  old  Aztecs  had 
a  feminine  way  of  sacrificing  one  another  to  the  gods, 
and  eating  one  another,  done  up  a  la  brochette !  The 
ladies,  bless  their  soujs,  are  fine  and  beautiful ;  and  love 
what  is  fine  and  beautiful ;  but  they  love  the  butcher- 
knife,  too.  Why,  I  have  detected  the  condensed  spirit 
of  forty  butcher-knives,  in  the  way  some  of  them  can  say 
'  s-h-e  ! '  of  the  woman  they  hate  ! " 

"  Well,  George,"  said  Karl,  "  we  won't  dispute  about 
tastes,  but  if  I  were  ever  to  write  a  play,  I  would  rep- 


94  GLOVERSON 

resent  woman's  love,  like  charity,  that  '  believeth  all 
things,  hopeth  all  things,  endureth  all  things.' " 

"  Bravo !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tambol.  The  three  lady 
guests  said  nothing.  George  Lang  was  their  hero. 

"  But.  on  such  an  occasion  as  this,"  continued  Karl, 
"  we  should  leave  Thalia  for  the  lyric  Muse.  Horace 
has  been  strangely  running  in  my  head  for  the  last  fifteen 
minutes." 

"  That  is  not  all  that's  got  into  his  head,"  whispered 
one  of  the  lady  partisans  of  George. 

"  Yes,"  Karl  went  on,  "  I  have  been  thinking  of 
Horace's  carpe  diem.  I  beg  your  pardon,  ladies,  I  am 
not  going  to  be  learned.  Carpe  diem  means,  freely 
translated,  '  Go  it  while  you  can.'  The  only  revenge  we 
can  have  on  the  sorrows  of  the  past  —  the  only  sunshine 
that  can  gleam  from  ourselves  outward  on  to  the  clouds 
of  our  future  — •  is  to  be  found  in  the  rational  enjoyment 
of  the  present." 

"  How  about  the  ant  and  the  cricket  ?  "  asked  the  cap- 
tain. 

"  The  fable  of  the  ant  and  cricket,"  answered  Karl 
with  a  smile,  "  was  written  for  the  encouragement  of  ants, 
and  insect  life  generally.  This  building  of  storehouses 
for  a  future  which  may  never  come,  is  not  the  part  of 
creatures  who  are  ruled  by  reason.  As  Cicero  said, 
nearly  two  thousand  years  ago,  '  You  plant  the  tree,  but 
another  reaps  the  fruit.'  It  is  all  well  enough  to  be  a 
benefactor  of  your  race,  but  it  is  another  thing  to  erect 
hospitals  for  imaginary  ills." 

"  Then  it  is  not  worth  while  to  get  rich,"  observed 
George  Lang. 

"  If  you  are  rich,"  rejoined  Karl,  "  enjoy  it.  If  you  are 
poor,  be  contentedly  and  elegantly  so.  If  you  are  asked 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  95 

to  drink  your  neighbor's  wine,  and  you  want  it,  drink  it. 
If  you  hear  a  band  of  music  playing  on  the  street,  keep 
time  to  it.  If  you  meet  a  pretty  face,  enjoy  it  for  its 
Maker's  and  its  own  sweet  sake.  Thank  God  that  the 
landscape  is  yours  ;  and  if  you  see  a  fine  sunset,  look 
upon  it  as  a  gorgeous  fresco,  which  Nature  has  painted 
on  the  sky  for  your  particular  benefit.  Carpe  diem  /  " 

The  short  silence  ensuing  was  thus  broken  by  the 
hostess :  "  Mr.  Dixon,  you  have  scarcely  said  a  word  this 
evening.  Shall  we  take  this  as  a  slight  upon  the  whole 
company  ?  " 

Every  eye  was  upon  Amos.  He  raised  his  somnolent 
^rbs,  for  a  moment,  and  muttering :  "  Cap'm,  where  am 
I  going  to  sweep  to-night  ?  Ladies,  I  love,  hie !  —  I 
love  you  all !  "  his  head  fell  upon  his  arm,  and  Mr.  Dixon 
was  borne  from  the  table,  fast  asleep. 


96  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  X. 

FOR    WHICH    LOVE    IS    MOSTLY    RESPONSIBLE. 

IN  the  middle  of  the  night,  the  whole  house  was 
aroused  by  a  scream  of  smothering  agony.  The  echo 
was  caught  up  by  some  sharp,  nervous  voice,  and  hurled 
back  into  every  corner  and  crevice  of  the  building,  the 
terror  translating  itself  as  it  went  into  "  Fire !  fire  !  " 
Forms  were  seen  issuing  from  the  rooms,  and  hurrying 
hither  and  thither,  while  new  voices  swelled  higher  and 
higher  the  diapason  of  horror. 

Then  succeeded  the  minor  tones  of  curiosity,  "  Where 
is  it  ?  where  is  it  ? "  No  one  had  seen  it.  "  But  Mr. 
Dixon  is  not  here  ! "  "  Where  is  Mr.  Dixon  ?  "  And  a 
simultaneous  rush  was  made  for  the  apartment  assigned 
to  that  gentlenfan. 

A  subterranean  noise  answered  their  vigorous  knock- 
ing ;  but  the  door  was  not  opened.  The  knocking  was 
repeated  in  an  ecstasy  of  clamor.  Only  the  same  earthy 
sound  came  from  within,  borne  on  the  sickening  effluvia 
of  coal  oil.  "  Bring  a  light  and  break  open  the  door  !  " 
And  the  ladies  retired  to  await  the  result.  "  Oh  !  "  ex- 
claimed one  of  these,  in  retreating,  "  Oh  !  that  he  should 
be  burned  to  death  in  this  way,  and  I  be  unable  to  see 
it  —  all  for  forgetting  to  slip  on  a  dress  when  I  got  up ! " 

The  door  gave  way  at  last,  with  a  recalcitrant  whir. 
In  the  middle  of  the  room  were  found  a  great  pile  of 
books,  and  on  the  top  of  them  an  unwieldy  book-case, 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  97 

and,  scattered  here  and  there,  on  the  top  of  that,  the 
fragments  of  a  kerosene  lamp.  "  But  where  is  he  ?  " 
"No,  he  is  not  under  the  bed."  "Mr.  Dixon !  Mr. 
Dixon!"  A  sepulchral  groan  issued  from  somewhere 
about  the  middle  of  the  room.  "  I  am  here,"  was  soon 
after  heard.  There  was  no  longer  a  doubt  as  to  his 
whereabouts.  The  book-case  removed,  the  excavation 
commenced.  The  labor  was  soon  rewarded  by  the  dis- 
covery of  the  top  of  Amos's  head.  It  was  naturally  con- 
cluded that  the  rest  of  him  could  not  be  far  off.  The 
exploration,  therefore,  was  conducted  with  redoubled  en- 
ergy ;  and  the  entire  Dixon  was  finally  extricated  from 
this  "  catacomb  of  departed  authors  "  —  almost  smoth- 
ered, indeed,  but  a  sober  man.  He  refused  to  make  any 
explanation  ;  yet,  as  he  was  shown  to  another  bedroom,  he 
simply  remarked,  "  I  have  had  my  temperance  lecture." 

Lang,  always  cool,  had  partially  dressed  himself  before 
leaving  his  room.  As  he  was  passing  back  again  to  re- 
tire, a  night-capped  head  was  thrust  out  at  him,  and 
Curiosity  coming  right  behind  it  demanded,  in  a  female 
voice :  — 

"  Mr..  Dixon  must  have  broken  his  lamp  ?  What 
caused  that  horrid  noise  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Dixon  has  probably  been  boring  for  oil,  in  his 
sleep,"  was  Lang's  hurried  answer,  as  he  passed,  "  and  " 
(clasping  his  nose  with  his  thumb  and  finger)  "  I  think 
Mr.  Dixon  struck  it." 

George  Lang  was  not  so  acute  as  he  thought  him- 
self. It  was,  indeed,  a  maudlin  dream  of  Amos  that  had 
brought  about  the  catastrophe  ;  but  a  dream  that  left  an 
impression  behind  it  —  that  grew  into  his  life,  and  bent 
him  with  it.  He  dreamt  that  he  saw  Amelia  Clayton 
7 


98  GLOVERSON 

standing  on  a  distant  height,  beckoning  him  to  approach. 
At  first  he  had  to  toil  over  rocks  and  rivers  ;  but  he  kept 
on,  for  he  was  conscious  that  these  must  be  passed.  As 
he  came  nearer,  the  ascent  was  graduated  into  pleasant 
terraces,  succeeded  by  flowery  meads  ;  and  just  as  he  had 
caught  her  own  encouraging  smile,  down  came  the  books 
and  book-case,  up  which  he  had,  in  reality,  been  clam- 
bering. 

"  There  are  rocks  of  reform  to  climb  over,  and  green 
terraces  beyond,"  thought  Amos  to  himself,  the  next 
morning,  instead  of  making  his  appearance  at  breakfast. 
"  And  I  must  commence  right  away,  or  I  will  never  reach 
that  smile,  outside  of  a  dream." 

About  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Tambol  tapped  at  the  door  of 
the  room  occupied  by  Amos,  and,  bidden  to  enter,  found 
him  sitting  moodily  by  the  window. 

"  I  have  brought  you  some  tea  and  toast,  Mr.  Dixon. 
Will  you  have  it  ?  Pray  now  do  ;  "  and  she  arranged  it 
daintily  on  a  stand.  "  How  do  you  feel  this  morning, 
Mr.  Dixon?" 

Amos,  taking  no  notice  of  the  tea,  toast,  or  question, 
looked  up,  at  last,  and  said,  "  I  shall  make  a  clean  breast 
of  the  whole  matter  to-day,  at  dinner,  and  ask  your  par- 
don before  the  whole  company." 

"  Oh  !  you  have  no  pardon  to  ask,  Mr.  Dixon,  and,  as 
for  the  company,  the  ladies  have  all  gone  home.  Your 
friends  and  the  captain  have  ridden  off  to  the  other  end 
of  the  valley,  and  will  not  be  home  to  dinner." 

Amos,  for  all  his  heroic  resolution,  heaved  a  deep  sigh 
of  relief. 

"  Mr.  Schmerling  and  the  captain,"  she  continued, 
"  were  going  to  come  and  see  how  you  were,  and  ask 
whether  you  would  accompany  them ;  but  I  would  not 
let  them  disturb  you." 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  99 

"  What  a  glorious  thing  a  true  woman  is  !  —  such  a 
bridge  over  a  man's  failings ! "  exclaimed  Amos,  evi- 
dently thinking  aloud.  Then,  recollecting  himself,  "  I 
beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Tambol ;  I  am  very  much  obliged 
to  you ;  for  I  really  do  not  want  to  visit  any  more  wine- 
cellars  to-day." 

Mrs.  Tambol  retired,  and  Amos,  finishing  his  light 
breakfast,  strolled  out  by  himself.  Following  the  wind- 
ings of  the  creek,  it  led  him  into  a  green  solitude,  where 
he  whiled  away  the  time  till  dinner.  Gradually,  every- 
thing but  the  dream  faded  from  the  memory  of  the  past 
twenty-four  hours.  He  felt  more  than  ever  before  his 
unworthiness  of  Amelia  Clayton.  He  returned  to  the 
house,  with  a  wavering  hope,  but  with  the  firm  convic- 
tion that  to  win  her  he  must  first  win  himself — that 
to  gain  the  sunny  uplands  of  her  smile  he  must  climb 
higher  up  the  steeps  of  manhood.  This  was  the  shadowy 
conclusion  he  came  to.  It  did  not  frame  itself  in  words ; 
for  it  was  too  indefinite  for  words.  He  did  not  know 
how  he  was  to  compass  his  object.  He  only  knew  that 
he  was  unworthy ;  and  resolved  to  do  hereafter,  with  her 
always  in  his  mental  sight.  So,  he  felt  sure,  he  must 
clamber  over  rocks  and  up  rugged  pathways. 

It  was  very  late  that  night  when  the  captain  and  his 
two  guests  returned.  Amos,  therefore,  did  not  see  them 
till  breakfast  the  next  morning. 

"  Now,"  said  Lang,  at  that  meal,  "  we  have  discussed 
the  vineyard  question  in  about  all  its  bearings.  Let  us 
have  the  light  of  Mr.  Dixon's  dream  upon  that  important 
subject." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Dixon,  do  tell  us  your  dream,"  joined  in  the 
captain,  with  a  very  hearty  laugh. 

"  For  the  consequences  of  my  dream  I  have,  I  hope, 


100  GLOVERSON 

Mrs.  Tambol's  forgiveness  already,  and  I  now  ask  yours 
and  the  company's." 

"  Tut !  "  said  the  captain,  "  I  should  never  have  for- 
given myself,  if  my  wine  had  not  told  on  some  of  you." 

"  But  are  we  to  have  no  benefit  from  your  dream,  Mr. 
Dixon  ?  "  demanded  Lang,  Avith  a  leer. 

"  Mr.  Lang,"  and  Amos  looked  him  squarely  in  the 
face,  "  you  have  had  all  the  benefit  you  ever  will  have 
from  that  dream.  I  have  begged  pardon  for  its  conse- 
quences, once  ;  and  the  subject,  in  the  way  you  look  upon 
it,  is  painful  to  me." 

Lang  was  thunderstruck.  This  was  a  display  of  firm- 
ness in  the  person  on  whom  he  had  calculated  for,  at 
least,  a  week's  amusement.  Feeling  conscious  that,  in 
the  dead  silence  succeeding,  every  eye  was  upon  him,  the 
stock  broker  covered  his  retreat  with  a  flaunting  smile, 
and  a  flank  movement  of  speech.  "  Mr.  Dixon  wanders 
from  the  subject ;  we  were  asking  his  opinion  on  vine- 
yards, as  an  investment,  and,  especially,  in  the  case  of 
our  friend  here,  Mr.  Schmerling." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  say  anything  to  influence  Mr. 
Schmerling  in  a  question  of  so  much  importance,  and  of 
which  I  know  so  little,"  answered  Amos. 

This,  though  known  only  to  himself,  was  a  worse  de- 
feat for  Lang.  He  had  calculated  on  Amos  to  sustain 
his  own  pretended  opinion.  "  Well,  then,"  said  he,  des- 
perately, "  to  sum  up  all,  there  is  no  improved  vineyard, 
such  as  Mr.  Schmerling  wants,  for  sale,  now.  He  could, 
as  the  captain  says,  buy  the  land  and  plant  one  of  his 
own  ;  but  he  is  not  disposed  to  wait  so  many  years  till 
his  vines  shall  grow.  Besides,  he  has  received  a  warning 
from  heaven  itself  against  so  jeopardizing  his  little  all. 
Haven't  you,  Karl  ?  " 


AND  HIS  SILENT   PARTNERS.  101 

"  I  have  received,"  said  Karl, "  a  strange  presentiment, 
and  I  shall,  on  the  whole,  wait  till  some  larger  cultivated 
ranch  is  for  sale." 

"  That's  sensible,  Karl,  at  last ! "  was  Lang's  exclama- 
tion of  repressed  delight.  He  did  not  know  that  the 
presentiment  had  done  more  than  all  his  arguments,  in 
bringing  about  this  conclusion. 

The  captain  did  not  look  pleased.  He  liked  Karl, 
and  wanted  him  for  a  neighbor,  but  he  had  before  this 
exhausted  all  his  reasoning,  and  now  said  nothing. 

"You  see,  captain,"  observed  Karl,  answering  this  dis- 
satisfied look.  "  in  a  year  or  two  I  shall  be  able  to  buy  a 
vineyard  here  that  will  suit  me.  I  will  offer  twice  what 
it  is  worth,  if  its  owner  will  not  otherwise  part  with  it. 
I  am  to  be  part  owner  of  the  '  Dorcas '  mine." 

"  What  mine  ?  "  demanded  the  captain. 

«  The  Dorcas." 

"  I  never  heard  of  it  before." 

"  That  may  be.  It  is  owned  and  controlled  by  Mr. 
Lang  and  a  few  of  his  particular  friends.  As  a  great 
favor,  George  assures  me,  he  has  prevailed  upon  them  to 
allow  me  to  invest  my  little  capital  with  them." 

This  was  the  first  intimation  Lang  had  received  of 
Karl's  consent  to  his  proposition  of  some  time  since.  He 
was  so  overcome  by  this  unexpected  success,  that  he  had 
suffered  his  friend  to  make  more  of  the  plan  public  than 
he  could  have  wished. 

•"  Then  you  have  finally  awakened  to  your  own  inter- 
ests, Karl,  old  fellow,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  he,  warmed  by  the  glow  on  the  broker's 
face,  "  we  are  again  embarked  together,  George ;  and 
may  we  float  as  peaceably  as  we  did  in  the  olden  time, 
down  the  windings  of  that  dear  old  Neckar  ! " 


102  GLOVERSON 

And  Karl  lapsed  into  one  of  those  day-dreams  of  his. 
He  seemed  to  be  drifting  through^ie  arches  of  the  old 
stone  bridge,  of  the  river  he  had  named,  toward  the 
Rhine.  He  saw  again,  crowding  the  banks,  the  little 
dingy  houses  of  Heidelberg,  with  their  sharp  gables  and 
their  moss-grown  tiles.  From  the  church  of  the  dead 
Electors,  he  heard  the  same  old  bell,  that  has  beaten  the 
inarch  of  time  for  centuries.  His  eye  ascending  with 
the  sound,  dwells  upon  the  far-famed  castle,  and  sees 
again  the  statue  of  Justice,  with  her  scales,  still  towering 
above  the  ruin.  But  far  beyond  looms  the  giant  peak 
of  the  Kaiserstuhl,  thrusting  his  spears  of  shadow  down 
past  the  Molkenkur  into  the  valley,  even  to  the  face  of  the 
silent  dreamer ;  and  his  dream  fades,  and  Karl  is  lost 
again  in  the  same  presentiment  of  evil. 

George  Lang  was  now  anxious  to  return  to  the  city. 
The  captain  insisted  that  a  Chinaman  should  drive  his 
guests  directly  to  the  landing ;  and  was  only  sorry  that 
the  expected  call  of  a  neighbor  on  business  prevented 
him  from  doing  that  last  service  himself. 

There  was  the  real  feeling  of  two  good  natures  in  the 
parting  of  Amos  and  Mrs.  Tambol.  She  was  a  true 
woman,  and  there  was  something  in  him  that  made  him 
know  it.  "  You,"  said  he,  "  have  ironed  some  of  the 
wrinkles  out  of  my  clothes  that  were  wet ;  and  I  think  I 
have  learned,  since  I  have  been  here,  that  a  good  woman 
can  smooth  the  wrinkles  out  of  a  man's  character." 

George  Lang  bade  the  hosts  good-by  in  a  calm, 
gentlemanly  manner,  with  a  smile  at  regular  intervals 
in  his  smooth  talk  —  nothing  so  rough  as  emotion  about 
it.  A  mournful  light  mantled  the  face  of  Karl,  as  he 
said,  shaking  hands  with  the  captain  the  second  time, 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  103 

"  We  will  certainly  see  one  another  again,"  —  while 
something  strangely  told  him  that  they  never  would. 

And  the  carriage  drove  away,  leaving  the  wine-grower 
and  his  wife  standing  side  by  side  at  an  opening  in  the 
lattice  of  the  porch,  with  comfort  around  them,  and  con- 
tent within. 

Karl  watched  them  dreamily  as  he  was  whirled  away. 
"  The  angels,"  muttered  he  at  last,  "  that  were  brides- 
men in  heaven  when  that  match  was  made,  must  yet 
hover  about  here  on  earth.  The  reflected  sheen  of  their 
guardian  wings  still  keeps  the  chain  bright.  There  is  a 
fitness  in  these  mated  ones,  which  is  the  lingering  she- 
kinah  of  the  Great  Master  who  linked  them  together. 
And,"  he  went  on  in  thought,  "  they  fit  the  scene  so 
well ;  and  yet,  the  scene  is  so  melancholy,  for  I  shall 
never  see  it  again." 

The  little  steamer  was  reached  in  due  time.  The  re- 
turn was  not  so  pleasant  as  the  trip  from  the  city.  The 
violent  afternoon  wind  of  summer  was  blowing ;  and 
nothing  broke  the  monotony  till  the  wharves  of  San 
Francisco  were  in  sight. 

The  three  fellow  travellers  had  been  strolling  leisurely 
about  the  lower  deck,  ready  and  anxious  to  leave  the 
boat  as  soon  as  she  reached  the  dock.  They  at  last 
stood  clustering  about  a  stanchion,  each  clasping  it  with 
one  hand,  as  if,  in  their  listlessness,  intent  on  holding  it 
in  a  perpendicular  position.  Karl,  his  eye  wandering  off 
from  one  passenger  to  another,  finally  observed :  — 

"  What  a  queer  study  the  human  face  is.  If  you  are 
pleased,  you  will  always  see  somebody  to  reflect  back 
your  smile.  If  you  are  sad,  you  will  always  meet  some 
look  of  sympathy  in  the  strangest  crowd.  In  the  great- 


104  GLOVERSON 

est  sea  of  faces,  you  will  always  find  one  with  some  reflec- 
tion of  the  overarching  heaven  in  it." 

"  Well,  Karl,"  remarked  Lang  carelessly,  "  I  think  you 
would  have  some  difficulty  in  finding  that  one  in  this 
crowd.  I  don't  see  it  in  that  sailor  there,  for  in- 
stance." 

Something  very  like  a  shudder  came  over  Karl,  as  he 
looked  at  the  person  indicated.  "  No,  George,  that  face 
looks  more  as  if  it  had  been  cut  out  of  the  infernal  side 
of  Michael  Angelo's  '  Last  Judgment.'  I  wonder  why  it 
annoys  me  so  to  look  at  that  brutal  sailor  ?  " 

"  It  is  simply  the  incongruity,"  answered-  Lang.  "  It 
would  not  shock  you  to  see  that  face  behind  prison  bars. 
Your  sense  of  fitness  would  then  be  gratified." 

"  That  may  be  partly  so.  George  ;  but  then,  why  should 
he  bring  back  to  me  so  forcibly  that  same  presentiment 
of  evil?" 

"  Oh,  pshaw,  Karl !  think  of  something  else,"  broke 
out  Lang  impatiently ;  "  you  got  clear  of  danger  when 
you  got  clear  of  vineyards." 

"  God  knows,  I  try  to  think  of  something  else,"  sighed 
Karl,  as  his  eyes  rested  on  a  gray-haired  old  man,  lean- 
ing against  the  bulwarks.  "There,  George,"  he  ex- 
claimed after  a  pause,  "there  is  the  face  —  even  in  this 
crowd  —  the  one  with  a  reflection  of  heaven  in  it.  That 
old  man  has  a  sorrow  at  his  heart.  Some  one  is  waiting 
for  him  above  and  beyond,  where  his  sad  eyes  are  look- 
ing. Do  you  see  him  ?  " 

Amos  had  for  some  time  before  been  regarding  the 
subject  of  Karl's  apostrophe.  Just  as  Lang  had  got  his 
eye  riveted  in  the  same  direction,  the  sailor  with  the 
sinister  face  came  along,  dragging  a  line  which  he  was 
getting  ready  for  the  shore. 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  105 

"Come,  old  man,  stand  one  side;  you're  in  my 
way." 

The  old  man  did  not  seem  to  hear. 

"  Stand  one  side,  I  say  !  "  again  shouted  the  sailor,  in 
anger. 

The  old  man  did  not  stir.  The  sailor,  coming  up  to 
him,  struck  him  ruthlessly  with  the  heavy  rope.  A 
woman  came  running  from  the  other  part  of  the  boat, 
screaming,  "My  father  is  deaf!  my  father  is  deaf!" 
The  old  man  had  scarcely  staggered  in£o  his  daughter's 
arms,  when  Amos,  with  a  well-aimed  blow,  stretched  the 
\  brutal  sailor  on  the  deck. 

"  Served  him  right ! "  shouted  a  voice  from  the  crowd. 
"  Served  him  right,  eh  ?  "  echoed  the  sailor,  with  the  ad- 
denda of  several  oaths,  as  he  crawled  to  his  feet  again, 
and  made  for  his  assailant,  "now  it's  my  t  —  " 

This  speech  was  interrupted  by  a  sudden  call  toward 
the  deck.  Amos  had  watched  him  leisurely  and  floored 
him  with  another  blow. 

"  Served  him  right,  agin ! "  shouted  the  same  voice 
from  the  crowd. 

At  this  point,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  tell  which 
slunk  away  more  sheepishly  —  Amos  or  the  sailor. 
Something  seemed  to  come  over  the  victor  all  of  a  sud- 
den. He  turned  quickly  on  his  heel,  and  walked  off  to 
the  stern  of  the  boat.  Karl  beard  him  mutter,  as  he 
passed,  these  incomprehensible  words,  "  There,  I  have 
been  fighting!  What  would  she  say?" 

Amos  had  scarcely  answered  this  question,  to  the  utter 
annihilation  of  his  hopes  of  being  better  for  Amelia's 
sake,  when  he  was  approached  by  Karl  and  George,  fol- 
lowed by  one  or  two  of  the  curious  crowd. 

"  Mr.    Dixon,"  exclaimed  Karl,  enthusiastically,  "  I'm 


106  GLOVERSON 

your  friend  for  life  ! "  And  he  embraced  Amos  on  the 
spot,  after  the  cordial  manner  of  the  Fatherland. 

"  Let  me  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Dixon,"  said  George 
Lang,  shaking  the  hand  of  Amos,  who  was  now  seriously 
embarrassed  at  finding  himself  a  hero,  against  what  he 
imagined  to  be  the  judgment  of  Amelia.  "  Let  me  con- 
gratulate you,  Mr.  Dixon,"  George  repeated;  while  the 
undercurrent  of  his  thought  ran  something  this  way: 
"  This  fellow  puzzles  me ;  the  less  I  say,  may  be,  about 
stocks  to  him,  the  better." 

"  Now,  your  friends  has  all  haft  their  say,"  observed  a 
bushy  gentleman,  in  rough  boots  and  ill-setting  store- 
clothes,  and  whom  any  one  would  recognize  as  an  "  hon- 
est miner,"  on  a  visit  to  the  city  —  "  Now,  your  friends 
has  all  had  their  say  ;  'low  a  stranger  to  have  his."  And 
the  same  enthusiastic  voice  of  the  crowd  was  recognized. 
"  I  say,  sir,"  he  continued,  "  bully  for  you,  sir ;  bully  for 
you.  I  only  wish't  I'd  been  a  leetle  nearder  to  that 
scoundrel  afore  you  reached  him.  I  don't  say  what  I'd 
a  done,  but  I  like  what  you  done.  You  done  well,  and 
there's  my  hand.  I've  got  an  old  gray-haired  father,  to 
home  in  the  States,  and  it's  sot  me  a  thinkin'  of  him. 
Now  sir,  you  suit  me,  sir ;  you  bet.  Come  and  take  a 
drink." 

For  a  moment  the  face  of  Mr.  Dixon  presented  a 
diorama  of  quickly-varying  expressions.  Every  stage 
was  marked,  as  his  thought  went  through  the  desert  pil- 
grimage of  his  late  memories.  He  hesitated  only  for  an 
instant ;  but  it  was  a  case  of  eternity  in  an  instant. 
For,  in  that  time,  he  had  wrought  an  illuminated  chron- 
icle of  recent  events,  one  chapter  on  the  tqp  of  another, 
on  the  palimpsest  of  his  face. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  107 

"  Come  up  to  the  bar,"  repeated  the  "  honest  miner," 
"  come  up  and  take  a  drink  1 " 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  said  Amos,  "  I  do  not  feel  at  all 
like  drinking,"  and  he  walked  out,  with  his  fellow  pas- 
sengers, on  to  the  wharf. 


108  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XL 

BECKONING. 

"  WHY  is  it  that  misery  takes  to  water  —  that  wharves 
and  bridges  are  the  Academy  groves  and  gardens  of  the 
miserable  ?  You  see  that  young  man,  with  the  thread- 
bare coat,  looking  dreamily  at  the  ship  spreading  her 
wings  for  an  Eastern  flight?  Fof  him,  though  unsuc- 
cessful here,  there  may  be  neglected  gold  in  some  New 
England  glen.  That  ship  is  going  toward  his  home  — 
toward  the  precious  hearts  that  absence  has  assayed. 
So  his  reveries  go  silently  outward  and  onward  toward 
the  rising  sun,  like  birds  of  passage  ;  and  the  great,  mys- 
terious ocean  is  their  element.  You  remember,  George, 
on  London  Bridge,  day  or  night,  the  wretches  that  look 
so  wistfully  into  the  muddy  Thames,  or  lie  sprawled 
upon  the  stone  seats  over  the  arches ;  sleeping  without 
fear  of  the  wickedness  of  others,  because  armed  with 
their  own  utter  misery ;  laying  their  hearts  against  the 
troubled  river's,  and  sleeping  or  dying  to  the  same  slug- 
gish lullaby  of  the  waters  ?  Where  in  all  Rome,  but  on 
the  Ponte  Sant  Angela,  will  you  find  a  poor  man  so  mis- 
erable and  sullen  that  he  will  not  beg  ?  Then,  those 
wandering,  houseless,  singing  tradesmen  of  my  own 
Germany,  the  Handiverksburschen,  those  knights  errant  of 
the  bundle  and  staff,  those  troubadours  and  minnesingers 
of  the  nineteenth  century  —  why  do  they  so  congregate 
upon  the  Bridge  of  Boats  across  the  Rhine  at  Manheim, 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  109 

gazing  into  the  legendary  river  as  into  an  Intelligence 
Office  ?  What  is  the  famous  Morgue  by  the  Seine,  in 
Paris,  with  its  one  or  two  thousand  suicidal  corpses  every 
year,  but  a  temple  erected  to  Misery,  by  the  side  of  the 
object  of  its  worship  ?  The  old  theory  of  the  humors  may 
be  right  after  all.  The  temper  of  mind  may  depend 
upon  the  fluids  of  the  body.  And  beyond  all  that,  by  a 
Gnosticism  never  taught,  may  not  the  great,  mysterious 
ocean,  the  visible  eternity  of  liquids,  be  the  divinity  of 
which  these  fluids,  our  feelings,  are  the  emanations,  and 
to  which  they  will  return  ?  The  wretch,  then,  who  goes 
to  the  water-side,  may  be  impelled  as  to  his  '  Ephesian 
dome,'  or  —  since  misery  is  a  protracted  death  in  life  — 
as  a  parting  spirit  to  the  bosom  of  its  God ! " 

These  were  the  queer  ideas  Karl  Schmerling  had 
enunciated,  one  day,  in  the  hearing  of  Amos.  The  lat- 
ter gentleman  had  thought  them  over  several  times  since, 
and  may  have  got  them  somewhat  confused.  At  least, 
he  almost  always  found  himself  grounded  in  a  side 
issue  —  a  sort  of  unexpected  bayou  of  the  watery  argu- 
ment —  that  is,  he  always  ended  in  believing  himself 
miserable. 

And  it  is  hardly  to  be  supposed  that  a  man  whose 
feelings,  scientifically  analyzed,  would  give  twenty  parts 
love  to  one  part  hope,  could  be  perfectly  happy. 

The  very  night  after  his  return  to  the  city  he  could 
not  stay  in  his  little  room  ;  he  must  walk.  It  was  moon- 
light, and  he  strolled  leisurely  out  of  his  narrow  street 
into  a  broader  one,  and  then  turned  at  right  angles  into 
a  broader  one  still  —  Folsom  Street.  It  was  certainly 
odd.  He  could  not  have  had  any.  will  at  all  in  the 
matter. 


110  GLOVERSON 

He  was  moved  by  the  same  magnetism,  gentle  reader, 
that  has  before  now  moved  you  to  pass  by  the  house  of 
the  person  you  love  or  hate.  You  remember  you  did 
not  reason  much  about  it  —  only  you  were  pretty  sure 
that  you  would  not  be  seen.  And  if  you  were,  what 
could  be  more  accidental  ? 

Mr.  Dixon  resolved  that  he  would  be  ascetic.  So  he 
allowed  himself  to  pass  the  castle  of  his  princess  only 
twice.  Simultaneous  with  his  second  transit  was  that  of 
a  shadowy  profile  across  the  window  curtain  of  one  of 
the  upper  rooms.  Amos  recognized  it  in  an  instant.  The 
outline  of  that  chin  and  nose  and  shoulder  could  not  be 
mistaken.  Their  impress  seemed  to  linger  on  the  cur- 
tain, even  after  the  light  had  disappeared  from  the  apart- 
ment. It  was  —  Sophia  Garr ;  and  Amos  turned  away 
more  wretched  than  ever.  His  hungering  eyes  had 
asked  for  bread,  and  they  had  been  given  a  stone. 

It  was  now  that  Karl's  aquatic  theory  came  in  a  be- 
wildering deluge  upon  the  mind  of  Mr.  Gloverson's 
cashier.  The  highest  mountains  of  his  thought  gradu- 
ally disappeared,  leaving  but  the  Ararat  of  this  one  con- 
viction, and  this  consequent  resolve  :  he  was  miserable  ; 
he  would  take  to  water. 

He  could  not  go  to  Folsom  Street  wharf,  because  he 
would  have  to  pass  the  elegant  house  again,  thereby 
breaking  his  stoical  resolve.  He  kept  on,  therefore,  in 
the  direction  he  had  last  taken,  till,  reaching  the  route 
he  customarily  took  on  his  way  to  business,  his  mind 
subsided  gradually  into  its  wonted  channel.  He  turned 
the  usual  corners  and  threaded  the  familiar  thorough- 
fares, involuntarily :  for  he  was  thinking  the  old  thought 
—  the  thought  of  his  dead  mother.  Her  image,  who  had 
been  all  confidence  in  his  future,  always  came  to  him 
with  the  halo  of  a  resurrected  trust. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  Ill 

But  then  to-night  suddenly  came  doubt  again  —  doubt 
that  somehow  always  came  with  the  remembrance  of 
poor  old  Aunty  Owen.  "  Why  do  I  not  hear  something 
about  her  ?  Or  shall  I  find  her  after  all  ?  "  For  here, 
the  idea  of  Amelia  Clayton  flashed  upon  him.  This 
was  indeed,  his  regular  curriculum  mentis :  his  mother, 
Aunty  Owen,  Amelia  Clayton  —  that  is,  trust,  doubt, 
undefined  hope.  Thus,  the  feelings  of  Amos  in  their 
queer  regularity,  were  like  a  sinking  river.  They  would 
disappear  from  the  sunlight,  go  on  in  darkness,  and  rise 
to  the  light  again.  But  was  he  always,  like  the  waters, 
farther  along  in  his  course  ? 

He  was  certainly  farther  along  in  his  walk  than  he 
had  any  conception  of.  Still  thinking  of  Amelia,  and, 
more  especially  of  the  dream  he  had  had  in  Sonoma, 
"  Yes,  yes,"  he  soliloquized,  in  a  deep  feeling  of  unwor- 
thiness,  "  I  must  clamber  over  rocks,  and  up  steep  "  — 
Boom  !  went  a  cannon,  apparently  right  under  the  nose 
of  Mr.  Dixon,  so  deafening  were  the  echoes  —  when,  all 
at  once,  taking  his  bearings,  he  found  himself  at  the  foot 
of  Telegraph  Hill.  "  Ah !  a  steamer  is  coming  in  !  "  he 
said  half  aloud,  as  he  commenced  in  reality  to  clamber 
over  the  rocks  and  up  the  steep  pathway  of  that  rugged 
eminence.  There  he  could  have  the  best  view  of  the 
bay,  and  the  Golden  Gate ;  for  again  had  it  suddenly 
occurred  to  Amos  that  he  was  miserable,  and  that  he 
would  take  to  water. 

Having  reached  an  open  place  in  the  hill-side,  he 
paused  to  breathe  and  to  watch  the  steamer  passing  noise- 
lessly below  him.  There  was  something  so  unreal  in  the 
scene  —  so  much  like  a  dream ;  the  impressive  silence, 
the  moon-lit  cliffs,  and  of  all  things,  himself,  alone,  in 
such  a  place  and  at  such  an  hour !  How  much  it  was 


112  GLOVERSON 

like  the  eerie  landscape  of  the  vision,  in  which  he  had 
seen  Amelia  Clayton  beckoning  to  him  from  the  heights ! 

Thinking  this,  he  looked  forward,  and,  several  hundred 
feet  beyond,  on  a  beetling  crag  above  him,  he  saw  — 
what?  he  rubs  his  hands  over  his  eyes  and  looks 
again  —  a  figure  outlined  against  the  sky  !  Yes,  a  female 
figure,  and  beckoning  to  him !  Some  covering  —  it 
might  have  been  a  shawl,  it  might  have  been  a  cowl,  or 
it  might  have  been  a  shroud  —  was  thrown  over  the  head 
and  shoulders.  It  seemed,  in  the  distance,  all  clad  in 
one  color,  more  ghastly  than  white,  and  indescribable  — 
something  like  that  mysterious  gray  of  old  armor.  He 
rubs  his  hands  over  his  eyes  again,  this  time  to  discover 
whether  he  is  really  dreaming ;  and,  convincing  himself 
to  the  contrary,  beholds  the  same  distant  figure  beckon- 
ing to  him  in  the  moonlight. 

For  a  moment  Amos  is  startled  and  confounded,  as 
the  most  valiant  of -us  might  have  been.  But,  ghost  or 
not,  he  resolves  to  approach.  Toiling  hastily  up  the 
path,  he  draws  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  figure,  still  beck- 
oning —  till  a  sudden  turn  in  the  ascent  conceals  it  from 
view.  He  feels  that  only  a  few  moments  more  will  bring 
him  face  to  face  with  — what?  His  breathing  is  quicker ; 
he  tries  to  convince  himself  that  it  is  because  the  ascent 
is  more  rugged.  The  ascent,  however,  is  not  more  rug- 
ged ;  and  his  pace  is  slower  than  when  the  figure  was  in 
sight.  His  breathing  is  quicker,  because  the  figure  is  out 
of  sight  —  because  its  place  has  been  taken  by  a  strange 
dread,  akin  to  that  which  the  bravest  throw  about  an 
unseen  foe,  or  an  undefined  danger. 

All  at  once  he  comes  in  sight  of  the  crag  again,  and 
finds  it  —  deserted !  More  confounded  than  ever,  he 
goes  up  to  the  very  spot  the  shape  had  occupied ;  but 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  113 

can  discover  nothing  of  its  retreat.  He  looks  down 
toward  the  bay.  The  steamer,  like  some  black  monster, 
has  disappeared  in  the  jungle  of  the  distant  shipping ; 
and,  in  the  lessening  light,*  the  silver  of  the  waters  is 
now  deadened  into  lead.  He  looks  out  toward  the  land. 
The  sparse  huts  and  houses  below  him,  at  the  foot  of  the 
crag,  seem  farther  off,  from  the  very  silence  in  which 
they  nestle ;  and  away  beyond,  over  the  hills,  the  white 
grave-stones  of  Lone  Mountain,  like  sheeted  spectres, 
inarch  slowly  and  noiselessly  out  of  sight  in  the  increas- 
ing darkness.  Amos  seems  to  himself  to  be  the  only 
living  thing  in  all  the  landscape. 

While  he  stands  yet  musing  on  the  scene  and  on  the 
strange  occurrence,  the  moon  goes  down  into  the  far-off 
ocean ;  and  Amos  is  left,  on  the  very  heights  to  which 
he  had  been  beckoned,  to  find  his  way  home,  in  darkness 
and  in  doubt. 


114  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MR.  DIXON    MAKES    A    BAD    IMPRESSION. 

A  WHOLE  week  had  now  passed  since  his  return  from 
Sonoma,  and  Amos  had  not  seen  Miss  Clayton.  In  the 
sense  of  his  own  unworthiness,  and  in  default  of  any 
other  explanation,  he  had  come  to  consider  the  mysteri- 
ous figure  on  the  height  as  symbolical  of  his  fortunes 
with  that  lady.  She  had  beckoned  to  him  only  in  the 
deceitful  moonlight  of  his  own  conceited  fancy. 

Amelia,  indeed,  had  never  given  him  any  warrant  to 
visit  the  elegant  house  on  Folsom  Street,  and  he  had  not 
called  upon  Miss  Garr,  because  not  sure  what  kind  of  a 
reception  she  would  give  him,  after  the  denouement  of 
the  social  hour  spent  in  her  school-room.  In  this  verbal 
joust  in  the  lists  of  matrimony,  Miss  Garr  had,  as  you 
might  say,  lost  her  breastplate.  If  she  were  not  really 
wounded,  at  least  her  secret  had  been  exposed. 

Ruminating  on  these  matters,  and  making  his  way 
toward  Front  Street  one  morning,  Amos  was  met  by 
Karl  Schmerling,  and  presented  with  two  tickets  for  the 
Philharmonic  Concert. 

"  It  is  to  take  place  this  evening,"  said  Karl.  "  Mr. 
Lang  is  to  go  with  Miss  Clayton,  and  Miss  Garr  has  ex- 
pressed a  wish  to  go,  also.  You  will,  I  believe,  from  what 
she  says,  be  perfectly  willing  to  go  with  her  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  was  the  answer  of  Amos,  somewhat  em- 
barrassed by  the  expression  on  the  face  of  Schmerling. 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  115 

Mr.  Gloverson's  cashier,  in  reality  no  great  scholar,  was 
here  guilty  of  a  false  reading.  He  had  taken  Amelia 
Clayton  for  the  subject  of  Karl's  knowing  smile,  when 
"  Sophia  Garr  "  was  the  real  nominative. 

So  Amos,  parting  from  Karl,  was  launched  into  a  sea 
of  uneasiness,  as  deep  as  his  own  feeling  and  as  broad 
and  long  as  the  whole  day.  He  resolved,  with  much 
shrewdness,  that  he  would  be  early  at  the  elegant  house 
on  Folsom  Street.  He  might  thus  get  a  glimpse  of 
Arfelia  ;  perhaps  be  of  the  same  party  with  her  and 
George  Lang. 

Mr.  Dixon  was  early. 

Amelia  had  just  begun  to  think  of  her  toilet,  and  had 
retired  to  her  own  room  at  the  ringing  of  the  door-bell. 
Miss  Garr  had  been  only  an  hour  at  the  adornment  of 
her  person.  Wondering  at  the  premature  arrival  of  Mr. 
Dixon,  she  sent  word  that  she  would  be  down  in  ten 
minutes,  and  accordingly  made  her  appearance  —  three 
quarters  of  an  hour  afterwards. 

And  in  making  her  appearance  she  was  doing  a  great 
deal ;  for  she  was  attired,  for  the  first  time,  in  her  new 
white  opera-cloak  and  her  Paris  bonnet.  Her  school  term 
had  closed.  She  was  no  longer  the  priestess  of  Wisdom, 
but  stood  before  the  startled  Amos,  the  goddess,  full- 
armed,  in  all  the  silken  panoply  of  conquest.  A  whole 
month's  earnings,  and  more,  had  been  marshaled  for  this 
desperate  onslaught  of  the  forlorn  hope. 

"  Well,  here  I  am  !  "  gushed  forth  the  gorgeous  Garr, 
turning  round  deliberately,  and  seeming  to  have  forgotten 
something,  but  really  illustrating  her  idea  of  a  tableau 
vivant,  for  the  admiration  of  Amos. 

"  Good  evening,"  stammered  that  gentleman. 

"  Oh !  good  evening,  Mr.  Dixon  ; "  and  she  extended 


116  GLOVERSON 

her  hand  imperially,  as  if  Amos  were  expected  to  kiss  it 
rather  than  take  it  within  his  own.  It  seems  Miss  Sophia 
had  merged  her  usual  politeness  in  the  contemplation  of 
her  unusual  splendor. 

As  Miss  Garr  did  not  sit  down,  Amos  asked  meekly 
whether  they  would  better  wait  for  Miss  Clayton.  "  I 
think  not,"  was  her  answer ;  "  Mr.  Lang  will  not  be  here 
for  half  an  hour  yet.  Let  us  walk  on." 

And  they  walked,  discussing  the  pleasures  of  life  in 
Sonoma.  Miss  Garr  was  of  opinion  that  it  must  be 
delightful  thus  to  live  away  from  the  gayeties  of  the  city. 
"  It  would,"  she  said,  wrapping  her  opera-cloak  artis- 
tically around  her ;  "  it  would  free  one  from  the  petty 
annoyances  of  fashion,  and  from  the  more  lavish  expenses 
of  dress." 

Mr.  Dixon  was  not  sure  that  he  should  like  to  live 
always  in  the  country  he  had  been  visiting.  There  was 
something  so  gloomy  about  their  wine-cellars! 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  think  any  one  would  like  to  live  in  the 
country  always,  Mr.  Dixon  ; "  and  the  amiable  smile  on 
Miss  Garr's  face  wreathed  itself  in  beautiful  harmony 
with  the  yellow  flowers  of  her  new  Paris  bonnet.  "  Not 
always,  Mr.  Dixon.  One  would  certainly  sigh  for  the 
faces  of  the  crowd,  and  for  the  elegant  air  of  well-dressed 
men,  and  —  you  will  excuse  me  —  of  well-dressed  women, 
too." 

They  walked  on  in  silence. 

"  Our  friend,  Mr.  Schmerling,  performs  to-night,  I  be- 
lieve," at  length  observed  Amos,  casting  his  bread  list- 
lessly upon  the  receding  waters  of  conversation. 

"  Yes,"  and  it  came  back  to  him  after  not  many  sec- 
onds —  or  rather  came  back  to  the  personal  adornments 
of  the  lady  by  his  side.  "  Yes,  and  all  the  elite  of  the 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  117 

city  will  be  there.  We  may  expect  to  see  a  great  deal 
of  dress." 

Thus,  during  the  whole  walk  to  the  Concert,  Miss  Garr 
used  her  tongue  very  much  as  the  natives  of  Australia  do 
that  interesting  weapon,  the  boomerang :  toward  what- 
ever topic  she  sent  this  projectile  of  speech,  she  had  the 
talent  always  to  bring  it  back  very  near  to  her  opera- 
cloak  and  Paris  bonhet. 

They  reached  the  Academy  of  Music  soon  after  the 
doors  were  opened.  Walking  boldly  toward  the  entrance 
to  the  Dress  Circle  they  were  stopped  by  a  man,  with 
this  question  :  — 

"  Have  you  a  reserved  seat,  sir  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Arnos,  presenting  his  tickets. 

The  man  grinned :  "  You  have  no  reserved  seat,  sir !  " 

"  Then  I  must  have  one  at  all  costs." 

"  All  taken  !  Right  up  those  stairs  !  "  and  the  man 
pointed  laconically  toward  the  ascent  to  the  Upper  or 
Family  Circle.  Amos  was  taken  aback,  yet  what  could 
he  do  ?  His  tickets  entitled  him  to  the  best  places  in  the 
house,  but  Karl,  who  rarely  knew  the  day  of  the  month 
or  week,  and  never  professed  to  know  which  was  east  or 
west,  had  thoughtlessly  omitted  to  secure  seats  before- 
hand during  the  day.  Mr.  Dixon  ascended  the  steps, 
therefore,  with  a  queer  misgiving  that  they  were  leading 
him  and  the  proud  Garr  up  to  that  Olympus  of  theatrical 
gods,  the  Gallery.  He  was  relieved  to  find  himself  landed 
at  last  one  remove  from  the  circle  of  his  apprehensions  — 
only  sutta  riva,  del  settimo  cerchio  ;  though  Amos  did  not 
know  a  word  of  Italian,  and  never  read  Dante. 

Sophia  Garr  absorbed  as  many  as  three  minutes  in 
arranging  herself  and  her  costly  apparel  into  a  seat. 
This  done,  she  cast  her  eyes  about  her  for  the  first  time. 


118  GLOVERSON 

Only  one  or  two  of  the  reserved  seats  below,  in  the  Dress 
Circle,  were  yet  occupied.  The  gas  was  about  half 
turned  on.  The  ladies  around  her  of  the  same  tier,  did 
not  wear  opera-cloaks  and  Paris  bonnets. 

Miss  Garr  was  fast  becoming  a  vinegar  volcano.  The 
first  eruptions  were  in  little  remarks  about  cheap  seats, 
and  travelling  second  class.  The  fact  of  the  matter  was, 
she  had  caparisoned  herself  for  the  express  purpose  of 
seeing  and  being  seen  ;  and,  in  justice  to  the  lady,  it  must 
be  allowed  that  the  Tipper  Circle  was  not  calculated  to 
gratify  her  in  either  of  these  respects. 

"  Mr.  Dixon,"  she  said,  "I  can  not  stay  here.  I  would 
much  rather  go  to  the  Theatre,  where  we  can  surely  get 
respectable  seats." 

The  opera-cloak  seemed  to  be  the  lexigraphic  authori- 
ty in  which  Sophia  had  found  this  word,  "  re-spect-a-ble  ;" 
for  she  had  inserted  the  hyphen  of  a  look  toward  the 
new  garment,  between  each  enunciated  syllable  of  that 
word. 

They  went  to  the  Theatre. 

Here  the  seat  must  have  been  a  "  re-spect-a-ble  "  one, 
for  Sophia  was  now  all  smiles.  Between  acts,  she  en- 
deavored to  impress  Amos  with  the  magnificence  of  her 
ancestry,  in  the  State  of  Maine  ;  and  related  to  him  many 
incidents  of  travel  in  Portland  and  Boston.  This  proved 
highly  interesting  —  to  herself  and  the  spectators  in  the 
immediate  neighborhood.  The  rapt  attention  of  these 
latter  was,  however,  mistaken  by  our  improvisatrice  of 
prose  as  the  natural  devotion  of  all  well-regulated  eyes 
to  her  new  opera-cloak  and  Paris  bonnet.  She  forgot 
the  unsatisfactory  interview  of  her  school-room,  in  what 
she  considered  the  success  of  the  untried  and  irresistible 
blandishment  of  dress. 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  119 

Miss  Garr  also  allowed  Amos  to  look  through  her 
opera-glasses.  But  even  this  last  burst  of  confidence 
did  not  seem  to  cheer  him.  Miss  Garr's  opera-cloak 
and  Paris  bonnet  had  evidently  come  between  him  and 
Amelia  Clayton,  whom  he  had  expected  to  see. 

The  curtain  finally  dropped  on  the  last  act,  and  the 
two  sallied  forth  upon  the  street. 

What  unimagined  horror !  Who  would  have  expected, 
on  that  very  evening,  and  while  Sophia  Garr  and  Amos 
Dixon  had  been  quietly  seated  in  the  Theatre,  that  the 
first  rain  of  the  season  would  come  on  ?  —  rain,  even  be- 
fore its  time ;  virulent  rain  ;  rain,  with  the  memory  of  the 
deluge  in  it  —  with  som«Tof  the  old  hatred  of  sinners ! 

Amos  quietly  surveyed  the  situation,  and — took  a 
sudden  resolve.  "  I  must  dampen  the  fire  of  this  woman's 
unfortunate  feeling,"  thought  he,  as  he  was  assailed  by 
innumerable  hackmen, —  a  storm  within  a  storm. —  "  Have 
a  carriage,  sir  ? "  "  Take  you  right  along  for  ten  dol- 
lars !  "  "  Take  you  for  seven  dollars  ! "  "  Take  you  and 
your  lady ! "  whispered  one,  at  last,  with  an  appeal  to  So- 
phia's anxious  face,  "  yes,  you  and  your  lady  for  five  dol- 
lars ! " 

Amos  led  the  way  haughtily  through  the  bustle,  the 
noise,  and  the  rain,  to  a  passing  street-car.  Inwardly, 
he  enjoyed  the  effect  of  his  preconcerted  villainy.  Yet, 
in  spite  of  his  resolve  and  the  chuckle  that  packed  it 
hard  down,  his  good  heart  sent  up  a  scarlet  protest  to  his 
face.  It  must  have  been  a  brilliant  tapestry  of  blushes 
wrought  upon  his  cheeks  and  hung  about  his  ears ;  for, 
in  his  account  of  the  adventure  to  Mr.  Andrew  Glover- 
son,  the  next  morning,  Amos  said,  that  during  the  whole 
sojourn  in  the  car  he  did  not  seem  to  be  riding  at  all. 


120  GLOVERSON 

A  strange  conviction  forced  itself  upon  him  that  he  was 
walking  on  his  head  ;  and  he  had  not  ceased  performing 
this  imaginary  feat,  till  the  car  stopped  at  the  corner  of 
Folsom  Street. 

Miss  Garr  had  contemplated  the  rain -drops  on  her 
opera-cloak  in  ominous  silence.  Now,  as  she  passed  the 
lamp  of  the  car  on  her  way  out,  there  was  something 
about  her  oddly  suggestive  of  a  mammoth  ale  bottle  on 
the  point  of  bursting.  The  light,  falling  upon  her  face, 
disclosed  every  feature  drawn,  as  if  by  some  strange 
magnetism,  toward  her  mouth.  Her  eyes,  and  cheeks, 
and  nose  all  seemed  nearer  than  ever  before  to  her 
lips,  and  these  were  compressed  in  an  agony  of  internal 
rage. 

Leaving  the  car,  the  couple  careered  down  Folsom 
Street,  with  the  white  opera-cloak  flaring  in  the  wind, 
like  a  flag  of  truce  ;  but  the  rain  would  grant  no  armis- 
tice, and  poured  volley  after  volley  of  penetrating  grape, 
even  on  the  peaceful  ensign  itself. 

They  skirmished  under  an  awning,  and  the  chivalric 
Garr  made  a  breach  in  the  door  of  a  belated  fruit  shop. 
Here  an  artificial  sigh  broke  through  the  quick  breathing 
of  the  leering  Mr.  Dixon  :  "  Oh  !  that  we  had  an  um- 
brella ! " 

The  fruit  vender  was  very  sorry  that  he  had  just  lent 
the  only  one  he  had.  Miss  Sophia  preserved  the  same 
portentous  silence,  her  face  now  looking,  in  a  miniature 
way,  like  one  of  those  clouds  which  sometimes  break  over 
mountainous  countries,  and  deluge  whole  districts. 

All  of  a  sudden  the  rain  stopped,  and  the  march  of  two 
was  resumed.  They  had  proceeded  about  half  a  block, 
when  the  storm  broke  out  again  with  redoubled  violence. 
Nothing  was  left  them  now  but  to  endure.  "  If  we  only 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  121 

had  an  umbrella  ! "  once  more  sighed  Amos,  villainously. 
But  he  received  no  answer.  Even  the  look,  darted  at 
him  through  the  darkness,  was  not  one  of  sympathy.  To 
the  higher  intelligences,  who  hear,  thought,  Miss  Garr 
was  not  silent. 

If  ideas  go  in  a  train,  as  philosophers  say,  those  of  the 
retired  instructress  must  have  run  an  express  —  an  ex- 
press over  a  suspension  bridge,  with  the  past  on  one  side 
and  the  future  on  the  other.  Of  the  present  —  the  dark 
chasm  between  —  she  would  not  think.  The  hopes  of 
long  maiden  years  had  reached  at  the  affections  of  the 
man  by  her  side^  but  the  parasites  had  clung  to  empty 
air.  The  mistletoes  had  died  before  the  oak.  The  un- 
certain time  to  come  must  be  laid  out  for  new  "  prospect- 
ings."  She  tried  to  dwell  on  this,  for  there  was  some 
comfort  in  the  belief  that  she  already  knew  where  to  look 
for  the  ingot  at  last.  But  the  present  waste  of  capital  — 
over  a  whole  month's  earnings  —  in  the  mine  she  was 
just  abandoning !  The  thought  of  this  would,  in  her  own 
despite,  come  upon  her  with  a  new  gush  of  anguish,  at 
each  renewed  pulse  of  the  angfy  storm.  It  was  then 
that  her  face  would  assume  a  new  likeness  to  some  ill- 
boding  thing. 

Miss  Garr  evidently  had  never  contemplated  the  ex- 
penses of  hydraulic  mining.  When  she  considered  the 
damage  that  water  had  done  —  the  utter  wreck  and  ruin 
of  her  new  opera-cloak  and  Paris  bonnet  —  all  the  harpy 
of  her  nature  looked  out  through  her  fast-filling  eyes ; 
and  her  compressed,  mute  mouth  was  eloquent  with 
direst  prophecies  against  unmarried  men. 

Arrived  at  the  door  of  the  elegant  mansion  on  Folsom 
Street,  she  could  restrain  herself  no  longer.  Turning 
her  back  upon  Amos,  she  burst  out  into  angry,  disap- 
pointed tears ;  and,  without  a  word,  went  into  the  house. 


122  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

FANTASTICAL  AND  GARRESQUE. 

THE  next  day,  Miss  Garr  and  Amelia  were  alone  in 
the  parlor.  Mrs.  Clayton  had  retired  to  her  own  room 
after  lunch,  leaving  much  sympathy  behind  her  for  the 
late  trials  of  her  old  friend  from  the  State  of  Maine. 
The  indignant  Sophia  quietly  cast  off  her  moorings  from 
a  sofa,  and  tacked  skillfully  for  an  easy-chair,  firing,  as 
she  went,  this  last  shot  at  her  sunken  enemy  — 

"  Well,  I  shall  never  have  anything  more  to  do  with 
that  wretch,  Dixon  ! "  This  was  preceded  by  a  flash 
from  her  wicked  eye,  and  followed  by  the  report  of  an 
imo  pectore  sigh. 

"  After  all,"  said  Amelia,  raising  her  quiet  eyes, "  I  fear 
you  do  him  injustice,  ^here  must  be  some  one  to  blame 
besides  him  ;  at  least  there  always  has  been." 

"  Nothing  but  his  pesky  meanness  ! "  was  the  sharp 
clatter  of  Miss  Garr's  shrapnell,  at  the  rising  ghost  of 
her  submerged  foe. 

"  But  let  us  not  condemn  him  hopelessly,  until  we  have 
heard  his  apology." 

"  Apology  !  What  is  an  apology  to  nearly  a  hundred 
dollars'  worth  of  dry-goods  and  millinery  ?  This  was  the 
last  purchase  I  had  contemplated  before  marriage." 

A  considerable  pause  succeeded.  Miss  Garr  had 
either  exhausted  her  ammunition,  or  dispersed  even  the 
ghost  of  her  enemy.  "  Well,"  she  observed,  at  last,  "  I 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  123 

should  have  paid  more  attention  to  the  advances  of  Mr. 
Schmerling.  Don't  you  think  he  would  be  an  interesting 
husband  ?  " 

There  was  just  a  little  of  contempt  behind  the  smile 
on  Amelia's  face,  as  she  replied,  -r 

"  I  have  always  thought  Mr.  Schmerling  interesting ; 
I  never  thought  about  him  as  a  husband." 

Amelia's  contempt  could  not,  then,  have  been  for  Karl, 
but  rather  for  the  practical  way  in  which  Miss  Garr 
"  prospected  "  the  affections  of  men.  So  she  did  not  tell 
the  schemer  —  what  she  believed,  on  the  testimony  of 
George  Lang  —  that  Karl  was  engaged  abroad.  She 
thought  she  would  let  the  scheme  come  to  its  own  end. 

"  For  my  part,"  continued  Miss  Garr,  "  I  think  he 
would  make  a  very  interesting  husband.  I  shall  encour- 
age him  hereafter." 

She  was  led  to  this  by  two  considerations.  She  would 
thus,  in  fact,  be  performing  two  duties :  first,  that  of  se- 
curing the  long-sought  ingot  of  a  husband ;  and  second, 
that  of  getting  Karl  out  of  George  Lang's  way  to  Amelia. 
Miss  Garr,  moreover,  became  uncommonly  dutiful  after 
her  own  disappointment,  and  proposed  to  earn  a  little  of 
her  salary  this  very  afternoon.  Somehow  or  other,  it  had 
never  occurred  to  her  before  why  she  was  one  of  the 
family,  and  yet  under  hire.  Her  own  sudden  interest  in 
Karl  must  have  had  something  to  do  in  the  way  of  re- 
freshing her  memory. 

"  By  the  way,  Amelia,"  and  Miss  Garr  opened  her 
guns  immediately,  "  you  never  say  anything  about  your 
own  matrimonial  prospects." 

"  I  don't  think  them  subjects  for  general  discussion." 

"  With  an  old  teacher  and  friend  of  the  family,  it  would 
not  be  general  discussion  to  open  your  heart  a  little  once 


124  GLOVERSON 

in  a  while.  Your  mother  and  I  have  often  wondered 
why  you  are  so  silent  about  yourself.  Then,  when  you  do 
talk,  you  talk  so  old  for  a  girl  of  twenty." 

Amelia  smiled,  as  she  changed  her  position  on  the 
cushion,  with  which,  at  will,  a  wide  window-seat  could  be 
formed  —  smiled  and  looked  silently  out  on  the  lawn. 

"  May  we  ever  hope  for  some  insight  into  that  mys- 
terious heart  of  yours  ?  "  insinuated  Miss  Garr,  with  mel- 
low emphasis. 

Amelia  still  looked  out  of  the  window,  as  she  said;  not 
so  much  to  her  inquisitor  as  to  the  velvet  grass,  and  the 
summer  clouds,  and  the  little  wild  birds  that  connected 
the  velvet  grass  and  the  summer  clouds  by  airy  chains 
of  melody :  — 

"  The  woman  that  knows  her  own  heart  is  wise.  She 
who  knows  it  best  will  be  the  wariest  of  its  secret.  It  is 
knowledge  enough  for  one,  but  too  much  for  one  hun- 
dred." 

Miss  Garr  was  thinking  how  much  more  appropriate 
such  language  would  be  in  the  mouth  of  the  widow  of 
three  husbands,  and  wondering  whether  she  ever  would 
be  able  to  understand  "  that  girl,"  when  Amelia,  still 
looking  out  on  the  lawn,  continued,  — 

"  I  don't  believe  those  birds  sing  their  heart-histories 
to  the  winds.  We  hear  their  peans  in  the  triumphal 
march  of  their  own  element  of  air.  Their  love-son<rs 

c^ 

are  meant  only  for  the  private  ears  of  their  chosen ' 
mates." 

"  Probably,  then,"  said  the  practical,  yet  metaphorical 
Sophia,  "  you  would  tell  your  heart-history  to  your  chosen 
mate  ! " 

Amelia  turned  so  as  to  face  the  court  of  inquisition, 
which  sat  now  principally  in  Miss  Garr's  sharp,  hard  eyes. 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  125 

"  Every  heart  is  a  moated  citadel,  that  is  fortified  by  its 
own  secret,"  the  young  lady  began.  "  In  the  little  I  have 
seen,  and  the  more  I  have  read  of  human  nature,  I  have 
noticed  that  half  the  power  of  command  is  the  power  to 
keep  a  secret.  But  when  I  truly  love  and  am  as  truly 
loved  again,  I  can,  at  the  proper  time,  and  to  the  proper 
person,  part  with  that  one  secret.  In  plighting  troth,  I 
will  then  be  giving  up  what  was  but  half  mine." 

"  But,  dear  Amelia,  George  Lang  is  so  interesting." 
(This  word  meant  a  great  deal  to  Miss  Garr  ;  it  was  the 
whole  of  which  the  following  were  the  parts  :  )  "  He 
is  so  talented,  so  good-looking,  so  attractive,  so  attached 
to  you,  and  so  rich  !  " 

This  was  the  pyramid  of  climax,  behind  which  Miss 
Garr,  now  hopeful,  rallied  for  a  second  onslaught  —  a 
pyramid  from  which  the  wisdom  of  thirty  maiden  years 
looked  down  upon  the  combat. 

"Now,"  exclaimed  the  Garr,  in  melodramatic  confi- 
dence, "  is  n't  George  Lang  interesting  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Lang  is  interesting." 

"  Come,  now  !  and  would  be  an  interesting  hus- 
band?" 

"Yes,  to  the  lady  who  might  desire  him  for  a  hus- 
band." 

"  And  she  is  "  — 

"  To  you,  I  presume,  personally  unknown  !  " 

Miss  Garr's  bullets,  it  seems,  however  sugar-coated 
with  disinterested  kindness,  rebounded  in  her  own  face. 
She  lost  the  battle,  then  her  patience  ;  and  left  her  guns 
and  the  room  at  the  same  time. 

Amelia  thus  left  alone,  reclined  quietly  on  the  cush- 
toned  seat  of  the  open  window.  The  afternoon  wind 


126  GLOVERSON 

was  tempered  by  the  foliage  of  the  lawn  into  a  gentle 
breeze.  Only  an  occasional  dreamy  sound  from  the 
street  broke  in  upon  the  strain  of  the  same  wild  birds. 
It  was  such  a  scene  as  the  memory  always  idealizes  — 
such  a  scene  as  one  sees  best,  the  second  time,  with  the 
eyes  shut.  And  Amelia,  yielding  to  the  influences  of  the 
place  and  hour,  was  looking  into  a  happy  dream-land 
beneath  her  closed  eye-lids.  Pleasant  paths  commenced 
to  lead  from  the  real  lawn  near  her  through  long  imag- 
inary vistas  into  the  far  distance.  Each  return  to  the 
reality  was  more  difficult.  Lost,  at  last,  in  the  mazes  of 
some  orange-grove,  away  up  in  the  uncertain  empyrean, 
return  was  impossible.  She  was  asleep. 

Her  face  —  that  book  of  unwritten  poetry  in  which  the 
beauty  was  born  of  the.  soul  within,  not  made  by  the  reg- 
ular dull  lines  of  a  school's  ideal  —  her  face  was  turned 
towards  the  lawn.  One  hand  had  fallen  by  her  side ;  and 
the  soft  folds  of  her  light  summer  dress  rippled  away 
from  her  half-buried  arm,  like  silvery  palm-leaves  from 
their  stem.  The  other  hand  rested  lightly  upon  her 
bosom.  Over  her  head,  the  curtains  of  rich  lace  and 
dark  red  damask  swayed  gently  to  and  fro ;  and,  as  the 
white  parted  from  the  red,  the  space  between  them  was 
filled  by  an  elastic  haze  of  crimson  like  that  about  her 
own  eye-lids. 

It  can  not  be  the  birds  —  that  sound  from  the  lawn, 
^pw,  uncertain,  as  from  an  -ZEolian  harp  -in  a  ruin  —  those 
strange  recurrent  chords  that  separate  and  float  away, 
the  ghosts  of  music  ;  then  those  bars  from  the  air  of  the 
"  Song  of  Friendship,"  that  terminate  so  suddenly  in  a 
blare  of  discord  —  the  soothing  strain  that  succeeds 
resting  upon  the  sense  like  a  loved  hand  upon  a  fevered 
brow,  till,  swelling  richly,  it,  too,  floats  away  in  a  purple 


V 

AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  127 

haze  of  delicate  harmonies ;  —  beginning  anew,  the  tones 
that  follow  upon  one  another  with  such  sweet  hesitancy, 
as  if  they  had  taken  airy  shape  and  were  startled  at  their 
own  footsteps  ! 

Is  it  the  dream  of  the  sleeping  girl  written  on  the  air 
in  music  ? 

Ethereal  notes  blend  into  a  strain  of  inexpressible 
longing,  to  settle  into  the  music  of  quiet  hope,  thus  rising 
and  falling,  a  jeweled  carcanet  of  sweet  sounds  on  the 
heaving  bosom  of  the  wind.  Her  head  moving  slightly, 
the  simple  coiffure  gives  way,  and  her  long,  brown  hair 
falls  in  waving  darkness  on  her  cheek  and  neck.  Sud- 
denly and  strangely  the  measure  changes.  Again  the 
air  of  the  "  Song  of  Friendship,"  as  by  a  capricious  will 
of  its  own,  shapes  itself  out  of  the  echoes  as  they  drift 
away  into  the  summer  afternoon  ^  and  then  all  is 
quickly  swallowed  up  in  a  bursting  wave  of  tones,  from 
the  lowest  depths  of  the  octaves.  There  is  no  theme 
now,  but  a  sort  of  confused  memory  of  organ-peals.  It 
is  shadow  music.  .  .  .  Amelia  becomes  uneasy  and 
awakes. 

Only  a  slight  rustle  of  leaves  is  heard  on  the  lawn ; 
but  it  might  have  been  the  wind. 

The  next  moment  the  door-bell  rang,  and  Amelia  re- 
tired to  her  own  room.  As  soon  as  her  hair  was  again 
arranged  in  the  same  simple  coiffure,  she  returned  to  the 
parlor. 

"  Oh !  Mr.  Schmerling,"  was  her  exclamation  on  enter- 
ing ;  "  how  good  of  you  !  You  have  brought  your  guitar, 
at  last." 

And  she  sat  down  in  a  chair  opposite  her  visitor,  and 
they  talked  about  the  concert  of  the  night  before  ;  how 
this  overture  was  executed,  and  that  aria  rendered ;  and 


128  GLOVEKSOX 

how  Herr  Bangoff  touched  the  piano,  in  his  great  solo 
in  seven  sharps. 

As  soon  as  she  could,  Amelia  prevailed  upon  Karl  to 
play  upon  his  guitar ;  and  it  was  not  long  till  the  frets  of 
that  instrument  were  transformed  into  a  little  Jacob's 
ladder,  leading  up  into  the  same  dreamy  heaven  of  all 
Karl's  music. 

That  consciousness  of  a  dual  existence,  which  has  been 
felt  by  almost  every  one,  from  the  days  of  Aristotle  to 
our  own,  suddenly  came  uppn  Amelia.  "  We  learn  things 
that  we  seem  to  remember,"  says  the  old  sage. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  Amelia,  when  Karl  had  ended. 

"  Oh  !  nothing  —  only  a  fantasia  of  my  own." 

"  Is  it  not  queer  ?  It  seems  as  if  I  must  have  heard 
that  music  before  ;  but,  then,  it  cannot  be." 

"  You  may  have  walked  with  the  spirit  of  it,"  said 
Karl,  smiling.  "  I  have  long  had  a  theory  that  all 
music  has  a  soul  of  its  own.  There  are  the  old  evil 
spirits  of  fire.  Why  can  not  there  be  the  good  spirits  of 
sound  ?  A  great  musician  was  never  a  great  criminal. 
Echo  was  only  the  plaything  of  the  wood  sprites  ;  and 
why  can  not  harmony  be  the  glad  joining  hands  of  the 
good  spirits  of  air  ?  " 

"  At  any  other  time,"  Amelia  rejoined,  "  I  would  say 
that  your  theory  is  as  much  a  fantasia  as  your  music. 
Now,  this  has  something  in  it  that  makes  me  forget  time. 
The  remembered  joys  of  childhood  mingle  with  the 
events  of  to-day;  and  all  my  longings  would  seem  to 
melt  into  fruition.  This  is  sentimental  talk,  I  know,  but 
your  wild  music  transports  me  into  a  cloud-land  where 
one  horizon  spans  the  past  and  the  future  ;  and  yet  there 
seems  to  be  a  deep  —  a  deep  something,  very  near  me, 
something  like  "  — 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  129 

"  A  shadow  ?  "  suggested  the  musician. 

"  Yes,  yes,  like  a  shadow  —  Oh !  I  know  now,  your 
music  recalls  a  dream  I  have  just  had." 

"  Strange  !  "  muttered  Karl,  "  and  you  saw  this  shadow 
in  your  dream  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  so  near  me,  that  I  felt  cold.  I  should 
have  thought  that  it  awakened  me,  only  I  am  sure  that 
the  door-bell  rang." 

Karl  thought  silently  of  his  presentiment.  How  came 
its  discordant  moan  in  the  chorus  of  his  good  spirits  of 
air? 

"  Then  the  music,"  continued  Amelia,  "  the  music 
sounds  so  weirdly  familiar.  When  did  you  write  it,  Mr. 
Schmejling  ?  " 

"  Very  recently.  It  has  never  been  committed  to 
paper.  It  is  merely  an  improvisation." 

"  Indeed  ?     What  do  you  call  it  ?  " 

"  The  Language  of  a  Dream  !  " 

Karl  might  have  told  how  the  odd  fancy  of  such  music 
came  upon  him  when  he  discovered  Amelia  asleep  in  the 
window,  but  for  the  unpleasant  mystery  of  the  presenti- 
ment, and  but  for  the  more  explicable  mystery  of  a  sud- 
den appearance. 

The  parlor  door  quickly  opened,  and  Miss  Garr  was 
launched  suddenly  into  the  middle  of  the  room.  "  I 
never !  I  beg  pardon,"  she  said,  "  I  have  lost  my  thim- 
ble ;  "  and  she  bowed,  as  if  she  would  retire.  Of  course, 
she  was  asked  to  stay,  though  she  never  thought  of  such 
a  thing  as  finding  company,  if  her  words  —  and  not  her 
careful  toilet  —  were  to  be  credited. 

By  the  way,  it  was  fortunate  for  Miss  Sophia's  equa- 
nimity that  she  did  not,  from  her  room  in  the  far  wing 
9 


130  GLOVERSON 

of  the  house,  hear  the  guitar  in  the  afternoon  serenade 
of  the  lawn.  Her  hatred  and  jealousy  would  have  had 
a  little  more  consistence  than  shadow-music.  A  "  claim  " 
was  hers  from  the  moment  she  "entered"  it  in  her 
maiden  heart.  Karl's  dreamy  freak  would  have  entailed 
the  dire  consequences  of  her  law  upon  both  himself  and 
Amelia.  His  guitar  would  have  been  looked  upon  as  a 
trespassing  pick-axe. 

Miss  Garr  had  heard  the  door-bell.  It  was,  on  a  fair 
estimate,  seventeen  minutes  and  a  half  after  she  had 
learned  from  the  servant  of  Mr.  Schmerling's  being  be- 
low, that  the  radiant  Semiramis  achieved  her  sudden 
entry  into  the  parlor. 

Where  the  subject  of  music  was  now  dropped.     As 

Karl  had  been  a  performer  at  the  Philharmonic  Con- 
cert of  the  evening  before,  he  did  not  feel  called  upon  to 
be  the  first  to  speak  about  that  exhibition.  Miss  Sophia 
had  been,  in  a  manner,  a  performer  there,  too,  so  she 
did  not  feel  called  upon  to  be  the  first  to  allude  to  it. 
Amelia  had  already  discussed  the  matter ;  and,  of  course, 
saw  no  reason  why  she  should  be  the  first  to  introduce 
it.  Thus  the  whole  subject  of  music,  suddenly  banished 
from  the  parlor,  stood  just  at  the  door  —  on  a  point  of 
precedence. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  however,  that  the  conversa- 
tion languished  long  for  a  theme.  Love,  though  probably 
not  more  calculated  than  music  to  exist  in  the  same  air 
with  Miss  Garr  —  Love,  with  his  gauze  wings  tied  behind 
him,  was  dexterously  "  trotted  out "  to  carry  wood  for 
that  artless  lady.  Was  not  Love,  indeed,  a  near  neighbor, 
and  blood  relation  of  Marriage,  that  dearest  thing  to  her 
pining  heart  ?  Love,  of  course,  was  a  hallucination  ;  but 
Marriage  was  reality  enough  —  something  that  could  be 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  131 

measured,  or  weighed  —  more  wisely,  to  be  sure,  by  troy 
than  avoirdupois.  Churches,  in  fact,  were  better  from 
their  connection  with  Marriage.  Were  they  not  the 
great  assay  houses,  whence  the  fame  of  the  stamped  in- 
got went  forth,  swallowing  up  even  the  name  of  the  lucky 
finder? 

"  But  then,"  observed  Miss  Garr,  the  conversation 
launched,  and  fully  under  way ;  "  but  then,  Mr.  Schmer- 
ling,  love  is  so  hopeful." 

"  Not  so  much  so  as  it  is  counterfeit !  "  thought  Ame- 
lia, as  Karl,  now  the  manifest  centre  of  all  Sophia's 
"hopes  and  mining  speculations,  carelessly  rejoined :  "  I 
don't  know  ;  I  have  seen  many  a  moody  lover." 

"  Though  you  are  not  one  of  them  ?  "  was  the  artless 
question  that  bubbled  up  from  the  depths  of  Miss  Garr's 
innocence. 

"  What,  I  ?  I  am  what  you  might  call  a  universal 
lover.  That's  why  I  am  not  moody.  I  suppose,  though," 
and  he  sighed,  thinking  of  his  presentiment,  which 
seemed  to  haunt  him  everywhere,  "  I  have  been  rather 
moody  of  late." 

"  I  thought  he  loved  me  !  "  exclaimed  Sophia,  mentally. 
"  You  mean,"  she  said,  "  by  universal  lover,  one  who 
loves  everything  about  his  mistress  —  even  her  foot- 
prints." 

"  More  than  that ;  I  love  all  woman-kind  ! " 

"  Ah  !  I  knew  he  would  take  some  grotesque  way  of 
declaring  himself.  He  shall  be  even  more  explicit." 
This  was  expressed  only  in  certain  uneasy  gyrations,  and 
ecstatic  attempts  at  a  blush.  She  now  essayed  the 
"  pleading  tone  "  of  the  elocutionists  ;  and  her  voice  ap- 
proached Amelia's  rich  mezzo-soprano  something  as  the 
dandelion  approaches  the  rose :  "  You  have,"  in  rejoin- 


132  GLOVERSON 

der  to  Karl's  last  remark,  "  you  have,  I  presume,  heart 
large  enough  to  love  the  whole  world,  yet  small  enough 
to  be  absorbed  by  one  ? " 

"  Not  exactly.  For  me,  loving  one  would  be  doing 
injustice  to  thousands  —  in  fact,  to  all  the  others." 

"  What  a  beautiful  joke  ! "  exclaimed  the  delighted 
Garr.  It  was  plain  to  her  that  he  did  not  want  to  di- 
vulge his  secret  before  Amelia.  She  wishes  that  imperti- 
nent girl  would  excuse  herself. 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  Sophia  that  this  "  Dutchman" 
delighted  in  the  beautiful  —  in  poetical  things.  She, 
too,  would  put  her  language  into  fine  raiment.  Personal 
ornament,  as  a  blandishment,  was  too  expensive ;  besides, 
had  it  not  signally  failed  on  one  gentleman  ?  The 
reader,  however,  is  tenderly  spared  much  of  the  mixed 
metaphor  and  barbarous  French  which  illuminated  the 
carrying  out  of  this  resolve. 

"  Love,"  she  said,  among  other  fine  things,  "  is  the 
1  Comstock  Lode '  of  the  heart,  marching  ever,  ever  on, 
with  relentless  wing,  to  the  last  oasis  of  its  pilgrimage, 
the  Happy  Isles  of  marriage,  which  are,  I  assure  you, 
paddy  shadows  ong  Espang  !  "  (probably  pas  de  chateaux 
en  Espagne.) 

Karl  could  not  have  paid  much  attention  to  this  mo- 
saic-work of  rhetoric,  for  he  looked  at  Amelia,  as  he 
went  on  to  say :  "  I  have  come  to  believe  that  friendship 
or  love,  being  built  so  upon  the  heart,  is  better  than  all 
philosophy,  because  the  heart  is  better  than  the  head. 
The  intellect  has  deposited  stratum  after  stratum  of 
systems  and  creeds ;  and  some  Bacon  or  Luther  has 
always  risen,  and  always  will  rise,  concentering  in  him- 
self the  pent-up  fires  of  an  age,  or  a  century,  and  has 
thrown,  and  will  continue  to  throw  them  all  awry.  The 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  138 

heart  has  always  been  the  same  constant  river,  rising  be- 
yond the  clouds,  and  flowing  to  the  same  eternal  ocean 

—  winding  and  wearing    its  way  through  the  primitive 
granite  of  Homer,  on  through  the  sandstone  of  Virgil, 
the  feldspar  of  Schiller  and  the  mica  of  Tennyson." 

"  Indeed ! "  was  the  expression  of  intelligent  apprecia- 
tion from  Sophia.  She  was  sure  it  was  her  own  elo- 
quence which  had  drawn  this  from  Karl.  Amelia  was 
silent.  She  was  wondering  why  he  should  talk  so,  then 
and  there.  She  probably  did  not  remember  that,  in  the 
gayest  carnival,  we  will  sometimes  argue  with  our  own 
sadness.  In  the  presence  of  others  we  have  it  at  so 
great  disadvantage.  Our  sad  heart  can  speak  but  to  one 
hearer  :  we  are  continually  confuting  it  before  many. 

"  And  all  affection,"  continued  Karl,  "  is  based  upon 
a  simple  axiom.  We  are  never  to  expect  more  than  we 
give.  It  is  a  simple  formula,  a  =  b.  Take  away  a,  and 
b  equals  zero :  take  away  5,  and  a  equals  zero.  This  is 
the  equation  of  Love ;  and  it  runs  through  the  universe 

—  from  Heaven,  through  the  grave,  back   to   Heaven 
again.     Which  is  the  lily  that  will  open  the  gates  of 
brass,  a  smile  or  a  blow  ?  —  They  have  a  simple  way  of 
preserving  wine  in  Italy.   A  little  olive  oil  is  poured  into 
the  neck  of  the  odd-shaped  bottle.     This  will  keep  away 
the  air  for  years.     Pure  love  is  charity ;  charity  is  the 
drop  of  oil  that  will  preserve  the  wine  of  a  whole  life." 

Karl  rose  suddenly,  and  bade  Amelia  good-by.  While 
performing  the  same  ceremony  with  Miss  Garr,  his 
foreboding  heart  began  its  reply  to  his  own  speech  — 
none  the  less  bewildering  because  heard  by  him  alone, 
and  none  the  less  convincing  because  it  had,  as  it  always 
does,  the  closing  argument.  Turning  again  to  Amelia, 
from  the  open  door,  and  shaking  her  hand  as  if  forgetful 


134  GLOVERSON 

that  he  had  done  so  already,  he  said :  "  Good-by  ;  good- 
by!" 

As  he  went  out  of  the  gate,  Sophia  observed,  meekly : 
"  He  sees  that  he  must  relinquish  one  of  us.  He  is  a 
noble  fellow  "  —  which  meant,  of  course,  "  He  has  chosen 
well."' 

"  There  is  something,"  replied  Amelia,  "  preying  upon 
his  pure,  generous  nature,  of  more  consequence  to  him 
than  either  you  or  I." 


\ 

AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  135 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WHEREIN   A    SIMPLE    QUESTION    BECOMES    HARD    TO 
ANSWER. 

ABOUT  five  o'clock  one  afternoon,  Mr.  George  Lang, 
Stock  and  Money  Broker,  and  Mr.  Nelson  Shallop,  his 
confidential  clerk,  were  engaged  in  summing  up  the  day's 
business. 

"  Mast'rly  stroke,  that,  Mr.  Lang  —  that  last  heavy 
spec'lation,"  observed  the  nervous  little  man  of  finance, 
counting  away  all  the  time  at  a  pile  of  half  dollar  pieces, 
with  that  strange  facility  and  correctness  which  seem  to 
come  from  money  itself,  and  act  through  just  such  human 
machinery  as  Mr.  Shallop.  "  A  mast'rly  stroke,  —  six- 
teen, eighteen,  twenty,  —  but  a  little,  —  twenty-five, 
thirty,  a  little  dangerous,  Mr.  Lang." 

"  Yes,  a  little  worse  than  selling  short,  under  the  worst 
of  circumstances,"  answered  the  broker,  as  he  rolled  up 
the  counted  silver  and  put  it  away  in  a  large  safe.  "  I 
have  known  one  of  them  a  long  time." 

"  Yes,  so  you've  told  me  —  fifty-two,  fifty-five,  fifty- 
eight  —  several  times,  —  sixty,"  —  and  the  marshaling  of 
half-dollars  proceeded  faster  than  ever,  the  dross  spirit  of 
enumeration,  in  money,  still  working  through  the  body 
of  Nelson  Shallop. 

"  He's  a  wary  old  fox.  We'll  have  to  look  out  for  him," 
remarked  Lang,  over  a  stack  of  "  Legal  Tenders." 

"  Not  so  old  either !  —  ninety-five,  a  hundred." 


136  GLOVERSON 

"  I'd  bet  on  his  being  nearer  sixty  than  fifty." 

"  The  devil !  '•'  was  the  filial  exclamation  of  Mr.  N. 
Shallop.  "  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  old  Andrew  Gloverson  and  his  partner  or  part- 
ners, of  course,  if  he  has  any  —  the  firm  of  Gloverson  & 
Co.,  on  Front  Street." 

"  Oh !  I  thought  you  meant  that  other  old  friend  of 
yours,  Mr.  Sch  —  " 

«  Sh  ! " 

This  rather  odd  echo  from  his  employer  caused  the 
confidential  clerk  to  break  off  suddenly,  and  to  look  up 
into  Lang's  eyes,  which  were  now  turned  toward  the 
door  of  the  office.  A  familiar  form  had  just  crossed  the 
threshold,  and  now  came  toward  them  with  hurried 
steps. 

"Where  is  Schmerling?"  and  the  startled  face  of 
Amos  Dixon  was  gazing  inquiringly  into  that  of  George 
Lang. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  broker,  looking  uneasily  at 
his  clerk. 

«  Why,  what's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Shallop. 

"  That's  just  what  I'd  like  to  know,"  was  Dixon's  per- 
turbed answer.  "  He  hasn't  been  seen  at  the  hotel  for 
three  days." 

"  Did  they  tell  you  so  there  ?  "  demanded  the  broker, 
as  his  face  became  more  troubled. 

«  Yes." 

"  You'd  better  go  and  see  about  it,"  suggested  the  in- 
valuable Mr.  Shallop,  who  seemed  to  be  the  mentor  and 
man  of  action  on  the  inside  of  the  window,  though  his 
name  did  not  appear  on  the  outside. 

George  and  Amos  proceeded  directly  to  the  hotel. 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  137 

"  Any  letters  in  my  box  ? "  demanded  the  former  at 
the  office. 

"  Nothing  at  all,  Mr.  Lang." 

"  Did  Mr.  Schmerling  leave  any  word  for  me  ?  " 

"  None  at  all,  Mr.  Lang.  Mr.  Schmerling,"  continued 
the  dignified  official,  from  behind  the  counter,  "  was  seen 
the  last  time,  three  days  ago,  by  the  porter  of  his  floor, 
entering  his  room  with  a  guitar.'* 

George  now  acknowledged  that  he  himself  had  missed 
Karl  at  dinner  on  the  day  in  question,  and  had  not  seen 
him  since. 

Arrived  in  the  room  Schmerling  had  occupied,  George 
Lang's  face  grew  paler  than  even  that  of  Amos.  There 
was  a  dreamy  carelessness  in  the  arrangement  of  every- 
thing about  the  apartment  —  so  suggestive  of  the  easy 
languor  of  the  man  who,  to  all  appearances,  might  have 
just  left  it  for  a  moment.  On  the  table,  for  instance, 
lay  an  elegant  cigar-case,  with  a  small  engraving  of  one 
of  Raphael's  loveliest  Madonnas  standing  by  it  on  one 
side,  and  a  little  alabaster  copy  of  Thorwaldsen's  Venus 
on  the  other  —  and  only  this  connection  for  the  three, 
that  they  were  all  beautiful.  Thus,  the  mother  of  the 
Christian's  God,  and  the  mother  of  the  heathen's  love, 
were  set  up  together,  not  in  the  compromising  spirit  of 
the  old  Romans,  but  in  a  light  that  made  both  holy. 
Karl's  entire  room,  in  a  word,  was  a  little  Pantheon 
for  all  lovely  deities;  for  his  was  the  polytheism  of 
beauty. 

There  was  the  least  perceptible  tremor  in  George 
Lang's  voice,  as,  after  looking  about  in  silence  for  some 
time,  he  said,  "  Where  could  he  have  gone  ?  The  East- 
ern steamer  went  yester.day." 


138  GLOVERSON 

"  He  hasn't  gone  on  that,"  replied  Dixon,  unhesita- 
tingly. 

"  Where  else  could  he  have  gone  ?  He  knows  no  one 
in  this  country." 

"  He  may  be  at  Captain  Tambol's,  up  in  Sonoma  ;  but 
that  is  hardly  possible,  as  you  know,"  observed  Amos, 
musing,  as  he  in  his  turn  looked  around  him ;  "  and  if 
he  is  not  there,  depend  upon  it  something  wrong  has 
happened." 

"  The  steamer  went  yesterday,"  Lang  repeated;  with 
some  emphasis.  "  He  must  have  gone  on  the  steamer." 

"  His  name,"  interposed  Amos,  "  was  not  in  the  printed 
list,  for  I  remember  to  have  read  that." 

"  But  you  know,  Mr.  Dixon,"  and  George  made  an 
attempt  to  recover  his  usual  equanimity,  "  but  you  know, 
Mr.  Dixon,  that  hundreds  leave  on  the  steamer  without 
having  their  names  printed." 

Amos  pointed  to  Karl's  guitar,  valise,  and  toilet  ar- 
ticles occupying  their  usual  places  in  the  room.  "  Why 
did  he  not  take  these,  and  why  should  he  leave  so  sud- 
denly, and  why  should  he  not  bid  us  good-by  ?  There  is 
something  wrong  here,  I  tell  you." 

Lang's  face  now  assumed  an  altogether  new  expres- 
sion. All  at  once  he  felt  that  he  hated  Dixon.  When 
he  would  give  so  much,  if  he  could  only  say  to  his  con- 
science, "  Karl,  my  old  friend,  has  gone  on  the  steamer," 
why  should  this  stupid  fellow  come  in  to  convince  other 
people  to  the  contrary  ? 

How  much  George  Lang  slept  that  night  it  would  be 
hard  to  tell.  He  himself  did  not  know  the  next  morn- 
ing. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  139 

Amos  did  not  reach  his  little  room  on  Clary  Street 
till  he  had  waited  hours  at  the  telegraph  office  for  this 
dispatch  :  — 

"  SONOMA,  186—. 
"  Mr.  A.  DIXON,  San  Francisco : 

"  Schmerling  is  not  here.  L.  J.  TAMBOL." 


140  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MR.   DIXON   MAKES    A    GOOD    IMPRESSION. 

WHAT  time  was  left  Amos  after  business  hours,  had 
been  dedicated  to  the  search  after  Schmerling ;  but  three 
days  of  such  labor  were  spent  fruitlessly.  Karl  had 
been  gone,  now,  a  week,  and  no  clew  could  be  found  to 
his  whereabouts. 

This  Monday  afternoon  it  occurred  to  Mr.  Dixon 
that  he  had  business  at  the  elegant  house  on  Folsom 
Street.  In  fact,  the  same  thought  had  been  occurring 
to  him  for  some  time  —  indeed,  ever  since  Karl's  disap- 
pearance, and  even  before  that  event.  His  last  view  of 
the  Clayton  mansion,  it  is  true,  was  not  under  the  most 
favorable  of  auspices.  The  dropsical  tendency  of  all 
things  on  that  fatal  night  —  the  prevalence  of  water, 
even  in  the  eyes  of  the  afflicted  Garr  —  was  calculated 
to  give  too  confused  a  back-ground  to  the  picture.  Amos 
may  or  may  not  have  used  this  argument  with  himself. 
He  certainly  used  a  great  many  others;  and  they  all 
tended  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  business  at  the  ele- 
gant house  on  Folsom  Street,  this  very  Monday  after- 
noon. 

Then,  why,  if  he  had  so  concluded,  was  he  standing, 
irresolute,  at  the  door,  through  which  he  expected  to  pass 
into  the  presence  of  Amelia?  That  fluttering  little 
monk,  the  heart,  from  his  busy  cloister,  is  always  adding 
such  strange  scholia  to  the  most  irrefragable  of  conclu- 


V 

AND   HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  141 

sions.  These  were  written,  now,  only  on  the  cheek  of 
Amos ;  as  you  might  say,  in  the  red  ink  of  his  own 
blushes. 

He  was  just  a  little  vexed  with  the  door-bell  for  ring- 
ing after  he  had  pulled  it ;  then  he  became  very  cool, 
and  walked  into  the  parlor,  looking  about  as  usual,  only  a 
little  more  sad.  Here,  Mrs.  Clayton  returned  his  bow, 
from  an  icy  mountain-top  of  dignity,  behind  which  she 
might  have  disappeared,  like  the  mysterious  figure  in  the 
moonlight,  without  astonishing  Mr.  Dixon  in  the  least, 
so  distant  and  so  rarefied  of  any  feeling  was  her  air. 
Amelia  extended  her  hand  with  a  rainbow  smile  above 
it,  and  he  took  it,  thinking  of  the  sunshine  of  the  pleas- 
antest  valleys  ;  and  then,  with  a  second  hopeful  thought, 
of  the  cheery  meads  and  terraces,  on  which,  in  his  vis- 
ion, she  herself  had  stood  beckoning  to  him.  Miss  So- 
phia Garr  did  not  see  fit  to  look  at  the  visitor  at  all :  for 
that  lady  was  weeping. 

"  What ! "  said  Mr.  Dixon,  and  his  face  wore  an  ex- 
tremely odd  look,  "you  have  not  been  crying  ever 
since  ?  " 

"  Yes,  almost  ever  since,"  sobbed  Miss  Garr. 

"  Impossible ! " 

"  Mr.  Dixon,  although  this  is  a  private  affair,  and  I 
don't  see  fit  ever  to  speak  to  you  again,  still  I  take  the 
liberty  of  repeating  to  you  that  my  eyes  have  not  been 
entirely  dry  ever  since"  The  two  last  words  were  empha- 
sized hysterically. 

"  Well,"  remarked  Amos?  thoughtfully,  "  it  was  a  hor- 
rid, dark,  wet  night." 

"  Then,  you  know  the  night,  do  you  ?  of  his  disap- 
pearance —  of  his  robbery  —  of  his  —  (sob)  (sob)  —  of 
his  murder ! "  exclaimed  the  sorrow-stricken  Sophia,  in 


142  GLOVERSON 

crescendo  horror  — "  Mr.  Lang  said  you  were  the  first 
to  bring  the  unwelcome  news.  I  thought,  then,  it  look- 
ed —  it  looked  —  well !  — "  and  drawing  a  long  breath, 
and  herself  into  a  sublime  attitude,  Miss  Garr,  at  that 
moment,  looked  a  caricature  statue  of  Suspicion,  done 
in  yellow  clay,  the  customary  "  Liquid  Pearl "  having 
been  rubbed  from  her  face  by  the  excited  use  of  her 
handkerchief. 

"  Oh  !  "  observed  Mr.  Dixon,  looking  away  from  So- 
phia, "  I  thought  she  was  alluding  to  the  rainy  night  of 
the  Concert  and  Theatre.  Really,  Miss  Clayton,  I  can 
not  tell  you  how  I  have  been  grieved  by  the  strange  dis- 
appearance of  Mr.  Schmerling." 

"  Mr.  Lang  says,"  Amelia  rejoined,  "  that  he  has  sought 
his  friend  everywhere,  and  believes  that  he  has  gone  back 
to  New  York  on  the  steamer." 

"  Yes,"  interposed  Mrs.  Clayton,  evidently  doing  the 
work  for  which  she  had  hired  her  old  friend  from  the 
State  of  Maine,  "  yes,  and  I  have  learned  to  place  great 
confidence  in  Mr.  Lang's. judgment.  That  little  stock 
transaction  that  he  undertook  for  me,  you  know,  paid 
very  handsomely.  And  now,  as  for  that  Dutchman  —  " 

A  tragic  movement  from  the  weeping  Niobe  of  so 
many  ravished  hopes  —  who,  by  the  way,  had  been  the 
first  to  vest  Karl  with  that  offensive  antonomasia. 

"I  beg  pardon,  Sophia,  Mr.  Schmerling,  I  mean  — 
Mr.  Schmerling,  then,  must  have  gone  on  the  steamer." 

"  It  may  be  so, "  said  Amelia ;  "  it  may  be  some 
dreamy  freak  of  his  ; "  and  she  thought  of  the  shadow- 
music,  and  of  his  preoccupied  way  of  bidding  her  good- 
bye the  afternoon  on  which  he  was  last  seen. 

"  I  may  say  that  I  hope  so,"  observed  Amos  sadly ; 
"  I  am  afraid  some  worse  misfortune  may  have  hap- 
pened." * 


V 

AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  143 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  began  Miss  Garr,  indignantly.  "  You 
are  not  content  with  trampling  on  my  affections,  and  ut- 
terly ruining  my  opera-cloak  and  Paris  bonnet,  and 
exposing  me  to  the  horridest  of  tempests ;  but,  no,  you 
must  come  and  insult  me  in  my  own  house  —  or,  L  mean, 
in  the  house  of  my  old  friend  from  the  State  of  Maine." 

"What  on  earth  have  I  done,  Miss  Garr?"  demanded 
Amos  in  surprise. 

"  Have  you  not  '  hoped  so  ? '  "  hurled  back  the  en- 
raged maiden,  with  a  dexterous  upward  turn  of  the  nose. 
"  We  will  see  how  people  can  be  murdered  under  suspi- 
cious circumstances,  and  how  other  people  can  darkly 
hint  at '  a  worse  misfortune  that  might  have  happened ' 
—  as  if  any  one,  Mr.  Dixdh,  yes,  any  one  dare  think 
marrying  me  would  be  a  worse  misfortune  than  to  be 
spirited  away  on  the  steamer,  or  foully  murdered  !  " 

It  must  be  told,  that  here,  very  much  out  of  her  own 
rule,  Amelia  broke  forth  into  the  merriest  of  laughter  — 
which  sounded  to  Mr.  Dixon,  after  the  preceding  storm, 
like  the  ringing  of  bells  at  sea.  He  was  almost  vexed  at 
himself  for  laughing,  too.  He  thought  it  drowned  the 
music  so.  Even  Mrs.  Clayton  was  moved  to  a  well-bred 
cachinnation. 

Whereupon  Miss  Garr's  face  became  nearer  blue  than 
yellow,  with  intensest  anger.  There  are  moments  of  ex- 
citement when  words  will  not  come  fast.  The  tongue 
becomes  overladen,  and  passion  runs  on  in  advance  of 
that  little  sumpter  beast.  So  now,  the  wronged  Sophia 
began  in  what  might  be  called  an  adagio  of  rage. 

"  I  will  not  say  what  was  between  Mr.  Schmerling  and 
me ;  but-if-he-had-not-been  spirited  away  —  or  mur- 
dered — "  (Here  her  sharp  eyes  looked  ineffable  things 
at  Amos  —  including  a  sense  of  family  injuries  —  while 


144  GLOVERSON 

she  repeated  with  clenched  teeth)  "  yes,  basely  mur- 
dered." This  latter  word  was  evidently  a  strong  weapon 
of  attack,  and  she  used  it  again,  "  I  say  basely  murdered." 
In  fact  she  used  it  so  often  that  she  had  lost  her  connec- 
tion ; .  and  to  this  day  that  annihilating  sentence  has  not 
been  completed. 

For  the  short  moment  that  her  speech  faltered,  her 
trenchant  eye  went  on,  —  right  through  Amos  Dixon, 
through  Amelia,  on  through  Mrs.  Clayton,  herself,  —  for 
her  wrath  was  now  comprehensive.  And  yet  this  human 
brochette  —  for  all  the  painful  spigotting  —  seemed  rather 
pleased  than  otherwise.  A  scandalous  smile,  even,  was 
on  the  face  of  one  or  two  of  them,  as  Sophia  turned 
them  over  and  over,  roasting-  them  before  this  verbal  fire : 

"  In  the  retirement  of  a  princely  estate  in  Sonoma  "  — 
Miss  Garr's  imagination  always  became  gorgeous  when 
the  idea  of  marriage  set  off  its  Roman  candles  —  "  there, 
I  hope,  I  would  not  have  been  forced  to  meet  a  man  who 
was  never  welcome  where  I  was,  and  never  will  be  wel- 
come where  I  am." 

The  lady  paused  long  enough  to  turn  her  brochette  of 
three,  and  to  pierce  Mr.  Dixon  with  a  forked  glance,  to 
see  whether  he  was  yet  done.  And  strange  to  say,  that 
"  arch  fiend  "  bore  it  very  quietly. 

"  How  dare  you,  sir,"  continued  Miss  Garr,  figuratively, 
stirring  the  fire  — "  How  dare  you,  sir,  come  into  this 
house,  after  offering  me  the  indignity  of  taking  me  home 
in  the  rain  ?  —  and  ruining  my  millinery  ?  " 

Amos  now  put  on  an  exceedingly  queer  look.  It 
might  have  been  of  confusion,  and,  then,  it  might  have 
been  of  tacit  wisdom. 

Whatever  it  was,  it  did  not  mollify  the  rage  of  the 
quondam  instructress. 


•\ 

AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  145 

"I  hope,  sir,  you  will  leave  this  house,"  she  almost 
screamed,  "  and  I  hope,  sir,  you  will  never  cross  its 
threshold  again." 

Amos  looked  uneasily  at  his  watch. 

"  Please  to  remain  seated,  Mr.  Dixon,"  said  Amelia, 
very  quietly ;  "  Miss  Garr,  this  farce  has  been  acted  about 
far  enough.  It  must  be,  by  this  time,  becoming  disagree- 
able to  Mr.  Dixon.  You  have  offered  the  gentleman  no 
inducement  to  make  an  apology  for  the  mishap  of  the 
other  evening.  He  has  doi^e  nothing,  that  I  know  of, 
which  should  bring  upon  him  an  expulsion  from  this 
house  ;  and,"  turning  to  Amos,  who  was  looking  again  per- 
turbedly  at  his  watch,  "and,  Mr.  Dixon,  you  will  come  to 
see  me  ;  will  you  not  ?  You  will  be  welcome,  always." 

The  idea  of  bells  again  occurred  to  Amos.  When 
Amelia  stopped  talking  it  seemed  to  him  like  the  dying 
away  of  distant  chimes. 

The  folds  of  Miss  Clayton's  dress,  too,  it  suddenly 
struck  Mr.  Dixon,  had  never  before  posed  themselves  in 
such  elegant  grace.  Amos,  lost  in  this  wilderness  of 
mazy  silk,  was  famishing  of  his  own  contemplation,  when 
a  gentle  manna  of  words  restored  him  to,  at  least,  a 
half-consciousness. 

"  You  are  not  offended,  Mr.  Dixon  ?  You  will  come, 
will  you  not  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly ! "  exclaimed  Amos,  as  he  thought 
how  he  should  like  to  be  abused  before  Amelia  every 
afternoon.  This  absurdity  came  into  his  head,  no  doubt, 
at  the  same  time  with  the  music,  which  was  the  tone  and 
soul  of  that  last  "  Will  you  not  ?  " 

Meantime,  Sophia  had  appealed  to  Mrs.  Clayton  ;-but 
that  lady  was  fearful  of  one  of  the  defeats  almost  always 
dealt  her  in  conflicts  wherein  her  daughter  marshaled 

10 


146  GLOVERSOX 

firmness,  and  love,  and  tenderness,  all  on  the  side  of 
right.  Mrs.  Clayton  contented  herself,  therefore,  with 
the  simple  remark :  "  This  house,  Sophia,  I  must  acknowl- 
edge, has  become  rather  common  of  late." 

Amos  was  just  on  the  point  of  consulting  his  watch 
again,  when  the  door-bell  rang,  and  he  suddenly  changed 
his  mind.  That  same  queer  look,  which  had  come  across 
his  face  several  times  this  afternoon,  was  observable  upon 
it  now ;  and  it  became  only  the  more  intense,  as  the  ser- 
vant announced,  "  A  package  for  Miss  Garr." 

"  A  package  !  "  that  lady  exclaimed.  "  I  have  ordered 
no  package.  Bring  it  in  here,  please.  It  must  be  as 
much  for  all  of  you,  as  for  me,"  and  her  voice  was  milder. 
Curiosity  was  the  oil  upon  the  waters  of  her  wrath. 

The  package  proved  to  be  a  large  one.  Out  of  it  first 
came  a  band-box,  and  out  of  that  a  most  elegant  Paris 
bonnet ;  and,  from  several  wrappings  of  immaculate 
white  paper,  came  forth,  like  Venus  from  the  foam  of  the 
sea,  such  a  splendid  opera-cloak  as  —  Miss  Garr  had 
never  owned  before. 

The  expression  of  Sophia's  face,  at  this  moment,  may 
be  stated  as  zero  divided  by  infinity.  Nothing  so  blank 
and  disagreeable  can  be  found  anywhere  else,  outside 
of  algebra.  She  was  looking  at  a  card,  bearing  this 
legend :  "  To  Miss  Sophia  Garr,  with  compliments  of  A. 
Dixon" 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Sophia  Garr,  drawing  a  long  breath, 
"  money  seems  plenty  enough  with  you  now,  Mr.  A.  Dixon. 
I  suppose  you  had  none  with  you  the  night  of  the  concert, 
or  you  would  have  taken  a  carriage." 

"  Oh !  I  had  plenty  with  me,  then,"  observed  Amos 
carelessly ;  and  he  watched  the  impression  the  scene  was 
making  on  Amelia. 


AND  HIS   SILENT   PARTNERS.  147 

"  What,  what,  sir  —  what  in  the  world,  sir,  did  you 
mean  by  taking  me  through  the  wind  and  rain  that 
night,  and  not  taking  a  carriage,  sir  ?  " 

Amos  arose  slowly,  coughed,  and  answered  deliber- 
ately :  "  I  was  taking  a  more  expensive  lesson  in  human 
nature.  It  is  ended  now.  You  may  profit  by  it,  too. 
Good  afternoon,  Miss  Garr." 

Miss  Garr  did  not  offer  to  see  Mr.  Dixon  out.  This 
fellow  had  seen  through  her,  and  shown  her  up.  There 
was  something  mingled  with  her  anger  and  hatred  that 
rendered  her  speechless. 

As  Amelia  stood  at  the  door,  bidding  the  visitor  good 
afternoon,  Mrs.  Clayton,  herself,  vouchsafed  this  compli- 
mentary observation  :  "  Sophia,  that  stupid  ass  is  no 
fool!" 

Amos  of  course  did  not  hear  this;  but  he  saw  the 
pleased  interest  in  the  face  that  bowed  to  him  from  the 
closing  door.  Something  had  taken  the  place  of  pity,  in 
the  earnest,  gray  eyes  that  were  to  bend  upon  him,  here- 
after, in  his  dreams. 


148  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MR.   ARCHIBALD    BEANSON. 

IN  the  two  months  succeeding  the  events  of  the  last 
chapter,  George  Lang  and  his  little  man  of  confidence, 
Mr.  Nelson  Shallop,  attended  strictly  to  business. 

This  statement  is  made  for  the  benefit  of  the  future 
sage,  who,  tracing  the  design  in  history,  shall  come  to 
dwell  upon  the  annals  of  the  Golden  State.  This  state- 
ment may  light  him  to  the  Bethlehem  from  which  that 
mania  went  forth,  besetting  nearly  half  a  million  of 
people  —  may  light  him  to  the  manger  of  the  anti-Christ 
of  stocks.  Such  men  as  George  Lang  were  the  worship- 
ping Magi,  and  such  restless  eyes  as  Nelson  Shallop's 
were  their  guiding  stars.  The  early  teachers  of  this 
grand  heresy  of  gold  were  nurtured  in  the  back  offices 
of  Montgomery  Street.  From  these  tents  the  neophytes 
went  forth  to  a  conquest  more  rapid  than  that  of  the 
Saracen ;  armed  with  the  distempered  glitter  only  of  a 
metal  a  thousand  times  more  powerful  and  more  deadly 
than  the  steel  of  Damascus. 

The  broker  and  his  clerk,  then,  attended  to  business. 
As  Mrs.  Clayton  has  herself  hinted,  Lang's  dealings  with 
that  lady  had  been  particularly  prosperous.  Other  tran- 
sactions of  a  speculative  nature  had  been  rewarded  with 
greater  success  and  with  greater  mutual  confidence. 

So  it  was  not  a  matter  of  any  great  surprise  when, 
early  in  the  evening  of  the  first  December,  George  Lang 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  149 

and  another  gentleman  called  at  the  door  of  the  elegant 
house  on  Folsom  Street,  and  asked  for  Mrs.  Clayton. 

"  She  has  been  abed  all  day,"  said  the  servant  laconi- 
cally. 

"  Take  this  card  up  to  Mrs.  Clayton,"  observed  the 
broker,  conducting  his  companion  to  a  seat  in  the  parlor, 
while  he  himself  leaned  his  elbow  carelessly  on  the 
mantle-piece,  taking  his  stand  on  the  hearth-rug,  as 
upon  his  own  confidence,  and  speaking  from  it  as  fol- 
lows to  the  gentleman  on  the  sofa,  who  was  moreover  a 
red-haired  gentleman :  "  That  card  will  cure  her,  Mr. 
Beanson." 

"Ye  — es  !"  emitted  the  red-haired  gentleman  on  the 
sofa,  with  an  indescribable  something  in  his  tone  and 
manner  suggestive  of  an  air-gun. 

And  it  was  not  long  till  the  message  came,  that  Mrs. 
Clayton  would  be  down  directly. 

Now  Amelia's  mother  was  one  of  those  invalids  whose 
disease  is,  principally,  that  they  do  not  know  what  is  the 
matter  with  them  —  a  nervous  disorder,  by  the  way, 
which  is  quite  an  epidemic  with  the  ladies  of  some  coun- 
tries. An  invitation  to  ride,  or  an  unexpected  visitor,  is 
often  the  best  medicine  for  these  afflicted  persons.  At 
any  rate,  such  a  fascination  for  Mrs.  Clayton  had  the 
man  whom  she  had  elected  future  son-in-law,  that  she 
made  her  appearance  in  about  half  the  time  it  would 
have  taken  Miss  Garr,  if  that  prim  maiden  had  been  ex- 
pecting the  visitor  for  a  month. 

Advancing  to  meet  her,  the  broker  said,  "  This,  Mrs. 
Clayton,  is  Mr.  Beanson,  the  notary,  who  is  now  pre- 
pared to  take^  the  acknowledgment  of  the  signatures. 
Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  send  for  Amelia  ?  " 

Mr.  Beanson  bowed  a  very  old-looking  head  from  a 


150  GLOVERSON 

very  young-looking  body ;  a  head  that,  besides  its  re- 
markable redness,  presented  the  appearance  of  having 
grown  prematurely  grave  in  studying  ways  and  means 
for  the  support  of  the  body  attached ;  and  a  body  that 
appeared  to  have  become  prematurely  lank  and  scalene, 
in  supporting  so  grave  a  head.  As  Mrs.  Clayton,  by  a 
nod,  consented  to  recognize  that  such  a  person  could 
exist  in  her  presence,  Mr.  Beanson  bowing  stiffly  from  an 
elevation  of  about  six  feet  and  two  inches,  said  he  was 
sure  that  he  was  very  happy,  and  resumed  his  place  on 
the  sofa. 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Clayton,  at  last,  having  taken 
some  time  to  discuss  the  question,  and  finally  convincing 
herself  that  it  was  a  human  being  and  not  a  Chinese 
tower  she  saw  before  her.  "  Oh  !  this  is  the  lawyer  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Lang,  "  this  is  the  notary,  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton, the  notary  in  whose  presence  the  papers  must  be 
signed." 

Mr.  Beanson,  somehow  imagining  he  saw  in  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton's question,  or  in  Mrs.  Clayton  herself,  the  ignis  fatuus 
of  his  first  brief,  occupied  several  moments  in  the  delight- 
ful optical  pursuit  of  looking  at  her.  He  felt  called  upon 
to  answer  so  important  a  question  himself. 

"Yes,  yes,  madam,  I  am  a  lawyer,  though  rather 
young,  as  you  see." 

Mrs.  Clayton,  looking  fortunately  at  his  body  and 
not  his  head,  nodded  assent,  and  graciously  keeping  up 
the  conversation,  inquired,  "  Much  practice  ?  " 

"  No,  madam,"  answered  the  hopeful  Beanson,  "  but  I 
stand  in  perfect  readiness  to  practice." 

Poor  fellow,  he  had  been  standing  that  way  s»  long, 
that  his  head,  as  has  been  seen,  had  well-nigh  reached 
its  second  childhood  before  his  body  had  got  fairly  out 
of  its  first. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  151 

"  Well,"  said  the  lady,  "  if  you  will  excuse  me  now,  I 
will  go  for  Amelia." 

The  ignis  fatuus  first  brief  had  disappeared  with  her 
behind  the  closing  door ;  and  Mr.  Beansou  was  left  to 
the  dark,  foggy  moorlands  of  his  customary  thoughts. 
Mr.  Lang,  throwing  himself  carelessly  into  an  easy  chrar, 
contemplate'd  the  notary  in  silence. 

To  correct  any  false  impression  that  may  have  been 
made  as  to  his  appearance,  it  is  no  more  than  justice  to 
state  that  Mr.  Beanson  was  rather  angular  than  awk- 
ward. There  was,  indeed,  something  so  aggressive  in 
his  angularity  that  you  forgot  his  awkwardness.  He  pre- 
sented so  many  points  to  hang  an  angry  glance  upon, 
that  the  world  in  general  could  not  help  looking  angrily 
at  him,  from  a  sense  of  fitness,  thus  so  agreeably  grati- 
fied. Mr.  Beanson  was  not  the  first  man  on  earth  who 
has  been  the  victim  of  his  own  personal  ugliness.  There 
was  nothing  bad  about  him ;  yet  his  life  had  been  a  fail- 
ure. 

Owing  to  the  discrepancy  between  our  only  two  au- 
thorities, namely,  his  face  and  his  frame,  it  is  utterly 
impossible  to  make  any  definite  statement  about  Mr. 
Beanson's  years.  He  might  have  been  twenty,  and  he 
might  have  been  of  any  age  beyond  that.  The  student 
of  this  particular  branch  of  chronology  was  generally  con- 
vinced by  the  authority  he  had  consulted  last.  All  that 
is  known  of  the  early  history  of  this  mysterious  person  is, 
that  he  had  been  elected  Justice  of  the  Peace  up  in  one 
of  the  mountain  towns,  and  if  he  had  not  resigned  just 
as-  he  did,  according  to  the  statement  of  his  own  impres- 
sions, he  would  certainly  have  starved.  He  had  come 
down  to  San  Francisco,  for  the  express  purpose  of  getting 
his  first  brief.  By  a  great  deal  of  eloquence  he  had  pre- 


152  GLOVERSON 

vailed  upon  a  painter  to  trust  him  to  a  notary's  sign,  and 
between  testifying  to  other  people's  oaths  and  swearing 
his  own  at  cheap  restaurants,  he  managed  to  keep  soul 
and  body  together ;  and,  partially,  to  reconcile  both  to 
that  ponderous  anachronism,  his  head.  During  the  long 
two  years  of  his  sojourn  in  the  city,  hope  had  more  than 
once  mingled  with  the  five-cent  dishes  of  his  banquets, 
and  seasoned  them  ;  but  that  was  the  only  material  bene- 
fit he  had  as  yet  derived  from  his  first  brief. 

Mrs.  Clayton  returning  with  Amelia,  Mr.  Beanson  ex- 
ecuted another  polyhedral  bow  and  addressed  himself  to 
the  business  at  hand. 

In  the  estimation  of  George  Lang,  it  seems,  there 
were  two  tides  leading  to  the  Clayton  fortune ;  and  he 
stood  prepared  to  take  either  or  both  of  them  at  the 
flood.  The  smoother  one  brought  Amelia  to  his  side ; 
the  other,  more  ruffled  by  the  underlying  rocks  of  the 
law,  bore  Amelia  and  her  mother  both  to  the  quicksands 
at  his  feet. 

The  lawyer  who  had  drafted  the  late  Mr.  Clayton's 
will,  and  had  been  the  widow's  man  of  business  during 
Amelia's  minority,  had  just  returned  to  the  Atlantic 
States,  there  to  remain.  The  broker  was  now  succeeding 
to  the  vacant  place  ;  and  Amelia  having,  passed  the  legal 
age  of  eighteen,  it  was,  of  course,  necessary  that  separate 
papers  should  be  made  out  empowering  the  agent  to  act 
for  mother  and  daughter.  At  Lang's  request,  the  paper 
for  Mrs.  Clayton's  signature  was  the  one  first  produced. 
At  Lang's  request,  also,  this  paper  was  elaborately  ex- 
plained by  the  notary.  It  was  simply  a  special  power  of 
attorney  appointing  Mr.  Lang  to  collect  and  sue  for 
rents,  etc.,  for  Mrs.  Clayton  ;  and  that  lady's  signature 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  153 

was  duly  acknowledged.  Coming  to  the  document  in- 
tended for  Amelia  to  sign,  the  aggressive  Mr.  Beanson 
was  proceeding  to  explain  it  to  her,  in  a  similar  manner, 
when  Lang  interposed  with  assumed  carelessness :  "  Miss 
Clayton,  I  hope,  by  this  time  understands  what  she  is 
about  to  do.  Pray,  spare  her  if  you  can." 

"  Then,  it  has  been  sufficiently  explained  already  ?  " 
demanded  the  notary. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  it  would  be  doing  no  great  compliment  to 
Miss  Clayton's  intelligence  to  go  over  the  whole  matter 
again." 

Mr.  Beanson  turned  to  Amelia:  "Do  you  fully  un- 
derstand the  great  power  conferred  upon  your  agent  by 
this  paper?" 

"  I  think  I  do,"  was  the  young  lady's  reply. 

"  Certainly.  Sign,  my  child,"  interposed  Mrs.  Clayton. 
"  Don't  have  this  man,  Mr.  Beans —  Mr.  Beanson,"  and 
here  she  pointed  in  haughty  defiance  at  a  salient  angle 
in  the  human  catapult  before  her,  "  don't  have  this  man 
go  over  all  that  horrid  explanation  again.  It 's  so  fright- 
ful on  the  nerves.  Sign,  my  child." 

And  Amelia's  signature  to  the  document  was  also  duly 
acknowledged. 

Laying  down  the  pen,  she  had  caught  Lang's  eye 
riveted  eagerly  upon  her  face.  The  next  moment,  and 
for  several  succeeding  moments,  Lang's  gaze  was  riveted 
as  eagerly  upon  the  carpet.  "  Why  will  he  never  meet 
my  look  ?  "  she  asked  herself ;  for  this,  as  will  be  remem- 
bered, was  not  the  first  stadium  in  the  long  retreat  of  the 
black  dishonesty  of  his  eyes  before  the  gray  purity  of 
hers. 

The  unmistakable  spring  of  this  utter  confidence  in 


154  GLOVEESOH 

George  Lang  seemed  to  Mr.  Beanson  as  plain  as  the 
nose  on  his  face  —  and  that,  by  the  way,  was  very  plain 
indeed  and  very  long  ;  for  when  that  gifted  notary  was 
dismissed,  he  slyly  remarked  how  eagerly  Mrs.  Clayton 
urged  the  handsome  broker  to  remain  and  pass  the  even- 
ing. "  Mighty  fine  girl,  though,"  he  thought  as  he 
descended  the  steps,  "  I  would  not  niind  marrying  her, 
myself,  —  but  then,  that  Lang  has  got  the  start  of  me." 

Mr.  Beanson,  it  may  here  be  parenthetically  stated, 
was  one  of  those  persons  who  had  been  taught  at  school 
that  he  was  in  danger  at  any  time  of  being  called  to  the 
presidency.  So  that,  when  he  announced  himself  in  per- 
fect readiness  to  practice  law,  he  would  have  been  guilty 
of  no  injustice  to  his  schoolmaster,  or  indeed  to  his  own 
feelings,  if  he  had  furthermore  announced  that  he  stood 
in  perfect  readiness  to  be  elected  president  of  the  United 
States.  He  was  not  aware  how  much  his  own  sublime 
ruo-o-edness  had  stood  between  him  and  his  first  brief 

OO  J 

let  alone  the  Chief  Magistracy.  Far  from  it.  Mr. 
Beanson,  on  the  contrary,  had  devoted  much  time  to  the 
study  of  diplomacy  ;  for,  he  reasoned  with  himself,  with 
some  justice,  too,  that  at  first  he  might  have  to  fill  the 
office  of  Secretary  of  State,  as  a  demonstration  of  his 
willingness  to  assume  the  more  responsible  and  arduous 
position.  This,  indirectly,  was  how  he  t:ame  to  flatter 
himself  that  if  there  was  any  one  thing  in  which  he  was 
calculated  to  excel  himself,  that  one  thing  was  di- 
plomacy. And  Mr.  Beanson  did  not  allow  himself  to  be 
dismissed  from  the  Clayton  mansion,  without  leaving  be- 
hind him  some  evidence  of  his  long  and  successful  training 
in  that  school  of  exalted  deceit. 

For,  the  very  next  day,  Miss  Sophia  Garr  astonished 
the  whole  house  by  finding  in  her  own  new  silver  card- 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  155 

case,  which  she  had  left  on  the  parlor  table,  a  very  cheap 
and  cadaverous-looking  piece  of  pasteboard,  on  which 
she  read  aloud  and  in  amazement  the  following  plenipo- 
tentiary dispatch :  — 


ARCHIBALD  BEANSON, 

Attorney  at  Law  and  Notary  Public. 

OFFICE  No.  133£  MONTGOMERY  BLOCK. 
Ascend  The  Last  Pair  of  Stairs. 


So  it  was  a  chuckle,  and  not  a  stumble,  as  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton had  believed,  that,  in  taking  his  departure,  had  agi- 
tated the  red-headed  diplomat,  in  pursuit  of  his  first  brief 
and  that  other  trivial  matter,  the  presidency. 

In  truth,  however,  Mrs.  Clayton  was  not  then  the 
proper  person  for  so  minute  a  decision  as  that  between  a 
chuckle  and  a  stumble  of  Mr.  Beanson's.  Apart  from 
the  keen  optics  and  knowledge  of  ancient  history  required 
in  judgment  on  a  subject  so  remote  and  antediluvian  as 
anything  connected  with  the  head  of  Mr.  Beanson,  she 
was  too  anxious  to  detain  the  broker  and  to  get  rid  of 
the  repulsive  functionary. 

The  chuckle,  therefore,  of  the  disappearing  notary, 
having  glided  on  into  an  open  grin,  had  broken  only 
three  times  on  the  shallows  of  laughter,  when  Mrs. 
Clayton  returned  to  the  parlor.  The  chuckle,  commen- 
cing again  and  taking  Mr.  Beanson  cheerily  around  the 
second  corner,  had  just  reached  the  broad  cataract  of  a 
deep  haw-haw,  when  Mrs.  Clayton  suddenly  remem- 


156  GLOVERS ON 

bered  that  she  was  really  too  sick  to  sit  up  and  must  go 
right  back  to  bed  again.  Vanishing,  therefore,  behind 
the  closing  door,  and  a  look,  rather  knowing  than  feeble, 
the  considerate  parent  left  Amelia  Clayton  alone  with 
George  Lang. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  157 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    SMOOTHER    TIDE. 

"  You  have  heard  nothing  yet  from  Mr.  Schmerling  ?  " 
demanded  Amelia,  of  the  Stock  and  Money  Broker,  as 
her  mother's  footsteps  died  away  on  the  stairs. 

"Absolutely  nothing.  He  can  not  be  in  California. 
I  have  sought  him  so  anxiously,  and  —  so  thoroughly." 

"  How  sad  !  " 

The  momentary  look  of  Lang  would  have  said  in 
words,  "  What  is  the  secret  of  her  interest  in  him  ? " 
The  succeeding  brightness  on  his  face  would  have  added, 
"  Ah !  I  can  cure  her  of  it !  Why  didn't  I  think  of  it 
before?" 

*Amelia  looked  musingly  away  from  the  broker.  She 
was  thinking  again  of  the  afternoon  when  she  had  last 
seen  Karl.  Lang  sat  gazing  on  her  face  as  on  the  tablet 
where  he  was  to  write  the  story  he  was  framing. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Miss  Clayton,  I  have  long 
since  made  up  my  mind  as  to  where  my  old  friend  has 
gone." 

"  Indeed? "and  Amelia,  turning  her  head  slightly,  con- 
tinued the  inquiry  with  her  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Schmerling,"  the  broker  went  on,  looking  from 
one  article  of  furniture  to  the  other,  and  ending  with  an 
abstruse  study  of  the  back  of  the  chair  in  which  the 
young  lady  sat,  "  Mr.  Schmerling,  I  suppose,  has  never, 
before  you,  alluded  to  his  affianced  ?  " 


158  GLOVERSON 

"  Never." 

"  Well,  then,  he  has  returned  to  Germany  to  bring  her 
back  a  bride  and  a  surprise." 

Amelia  smiled  incredulously.  "  Why  should  he  leave 
everybody  and  every  thing  so  suddenly  —  even  his  trav- 
eling valise,  as  Mr.  Dixon  says." 

"  Mr.  Dixon  !     That  Dixon  is  a  —  " 

"  Gentleman,  Mr.  Lang." 

u  Just  as  I  was  going  to  say  —  a  gentleman  who  is 
more  liable  to  be  mistaken  in  this  matter,  than  I  am  who 
have  known  Karl  for  years."  Lang's  eye  here  regained 
the  back  of  Amelia's  chair,  from  which  it  had  been  tem- 
porarily jarred  away,  and  his  temper  and  his  words  be- 
came smoother.  "You  see  how  delicate  Karl  has  been 
about  mentioning  the  red-cheeked  object  of  his  choice. 
The  mystery  of  his  departure  would  indeed  have  been 
utterly  inexplicable,  had  it  been  any  one  else  but  that 
same  dear  old  Karl.  He  is  such  a  queer  fellow ! " 

"  How,  by  the  way,  did  you,  Mr.  Lang,  come  to  know 
of  the  engagement  ?  "  Then  followed  the  woman's  qifes- 
tion :  "  Are  you  sure  she  is  pretty  ?  How  did  you  know 
she  is  red-cheeked  ?  " 

"  I  am  almost  sure  he  never  mentioned  his  engage- 
ment or  his  lady  to  any  one  but  me,  and  he  would  not 
have  done  that  had  I  not  read  it  in  his  crystalline  nature. 
I  surprised  him  one  day  in  the  queerest  manner  possible, 
and  he  owned  everything,  and  that,"  said  Lang,  with  a 
bow  and  a  smile,  "  is.  the  way  I  learned  she  was  pretty  and 
had  red  cheeks." 

After  a  slight  pause  Amelia  began  :  "  Women  are  told 
every  day  of  their  inordinate  curiosity.  It  is  hardly  nec- 
essary; for  we  know  we  have  it,  and  with  an  apology 
for  mine,  now,  would  it  be  wrong  in  me  to  ask  how  you 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  "  159 

made  Mr.  Schmerling  own  everything  ?  —  in  short,  what 
that  *  queerest  manner  possible '  was  ?  " 

The  broker's  eyes  crept  away  from  the  back  of  her 
chair,  and  made  a  stealthy  pilgrimage  to  her  face.  They 
bent  before  the  two  shrines  of  light  there,  and  fled  back 
whence  they  came.  "It  was,"  he  answered  with  just 
the  least  nervousness,  "  it  was  by  means  of  an  old  Italian 
author." 

"  An  old  Italian  author  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Boccaccio  —  an  old  fellow,  by  the  way,  whom  I 
almost  always  find  serviceable  in  affairs  of  the  heart. 
Much  of  modefn  literature  is  founded  on  him.  He  was, 
in  fact,  the  Herodotus  of  heart-history.  Even  that  other 
great  pioneer  in  such  matters,  Shakespeare,  himself,  has 
borrowed  from  him." 

"  Really,"  said  Amelia,  becoming  interested, ' "  I  have 
just  barely  heard  of  Boccaccio,  so  it  may  be  excusable  if 
I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  Oh !  it  is  one  of  his  stories  that  always  helps  me 
out." 

"  And  you  are  kindly  going  to  relate  it  now  ?  " 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  the  story  is  insipid  enough.  Its 
merit  is  in  its  adaptability.  La  Fontaine,  for  instance, 
has  used  it  in  his  Magnifique,  if  I  remember ;  and  old 
Ben  Jonson  in  one  of  his  comedies.  I  am  not  good 
authority,  however ;  I  used  to  read  such  things  a  long 
time  ago  when  I  was  more  scholarly,  less  absorbed  in 
business,  and,  in  short  (with  a  deprecatory  smile),  more 
worthy  of  your  companionship." 

At  this  last  word,  Amelia  fell  to  musing  again.  "  Why," 
she  asked  of  herself,  "  do  I  always  feel  so  constrained  in 
his  presence  ?  That  is  the  way  people  in  novels  feel 
when  they  are  in  love.  And  why  will  he  never  look  me 


160  GLOVERSON 

square  in  the  face  ?  Is  there  anything  so  very  wicked  in 
my  eye  ?  "  Then,  recollecting  herself,  she  said,  "  Indeed, 
Mr.  Lang,  I  should  like  to  hear  so  famous  a  story." 

"  You  would  ?  "  and  he  moved  his  seat  nearer  to  hers, 
while  his  eyes  made  another  circuit  of  the  room  and 
rested  on  the  same  spot  on  the  back  of  her  chair. 
"Well,  then,"  he  began,  "the  Knight  Ricciardo,  after 
long  desiring,  and  at  the  sacrifice  of  a  great  prize,  ob- 
tained a  short  interview  with  the  lady  whom  he  loved 
as  rarely  men  can  love.  He  spoke  to  her  then  as  he 
had  never,  except  with  his  eyes,  had  a  chance  to  speak  to 
her  before." 

"  With  his  eyes  ?  " 

"  No,  in  words,  and  in  words  something  like  these : 
*  I  make  no  doubt,  dear  lady,  that  you  have  perceived 
how  much  I  am  your  slave.  You  have  known  that  I 
loved  you,  but  you  cannot  know,  and  I  can  not  tell  how 
long  and  ardently.  Without  you  I  am  not  peer  to  my 
own  misery  ;  bearing  your  favor  to  the  fray,  I  could  ride 
and  tilt  against  a  world.  Be  assured  that  you  can  call 
nothing  your  own  so  much  as  me  and  mine.  Give  me, 
then,  one  inestimable  boon  in  return.  May  I  hope  ?'" 

Lang  paused.  Amelia  became  agitated  and  confused. 
She  was  demanding  of  herself  what  this  possibly  could 
have  to  do  with  Schmerling.  Seeing  that  Lang  did  not 
proceed,  she  asked :  — 

"  And  what  did  the  lady  say  ?  " 

"  Nothing  —  only  trembled." 

"  And  the  gentleman  ?  " 

"  He  paused  for  an  answer." 

Amelia  strove  to  repress  a  strange  dizziness  which  she 
felt  coming  over  her  —  a  dizziness  akin  to  that  which 
one  sometimes  feels  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  and 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  161 

which  brings  with  it  that  wild  temptation  to  throw  one's 
self  over.  0 

Lang  at  last  resumed  his  story.  "  The  Knight  Ric- 
ciardo,  seeing  that  the  lady  spoke  not,  and  being  still 
hopeful,  thus  made  answer  for  her :  'I  have  most  assur- 
edly, Sir  Knight,  been  long  a  witness  of  the  great  love 
you  bear  me ;  and  am  now  further  convinced  of  it  by 
your  words.  I  know  the  will  of  my  mother.  1  think  I  can 
trust  my  heart.  Such  devotion  as  yours  should  have  its 
requital  —  in  fact,  compels  its  own  requital.  Love  grows 
upon  such  a  soil.  We  will  await  the  blossoming.  You 
may  hope.' " 

Amelia's  strange  dizziness  had  increased  at  the  words 
"I  know  the  will  of  my  mother."  She  had  then  at- 
tempted to  speak,  but  had  failed.  She  had  heard  nothing 
beyond  those  words,  "  I  know  the  will  of  my  mother." 

"  You  do  not  ask,  "  said  Lang,  "  whether  the  lady  was 
pleased." 

"Well,"  sighed  Amelia,  listlessly,-  "was  the  lady 
pleased  ?  " 

"  Was  she  pleased!  Rather  is  she  pleased?"  insin- 
uated Lang,  lowering  his  voice  as  his  face  became  set 
with  a  determined  look.  "  Is  she  pleased  ?  Are  you 
pleased  ?  "  Then,  attempting  to  take  her  hand,  "  0  dear 
Amelia! "  * 

"  Oh !  dear,  Amelia ! "  echoed  a  voice,  so  sudden  and 
so  sharp  that  it  seemed  to  be  all  around  them. 

Lang's  hand,  on  the  way  to  the  young  lady's,  was 
quickly  arrested  and  went  to  his  own  ear,  in  the  attitude 
of  listening. 

In  the  succeeding  stillness,  he  convinced  himself  that 
he  was  the  dupe  of  imagination. 

"  Yes,"  he  resumed,  at  last,  "  I  am  Ricciardo.  Have  I 
11 


162  GLOVERSON 

told  your  story  as  faithfully  as  I  have  my  own  ?     May  I, 

0  Amelia  "  • — 

"  O  Amelia !  "  echoed  the  same  sharp  voice. 

Another  startled  pause. 

"  Amelia,  where  are  you  ?  " 

"  Where  am  I,  where  am  I  ?  "  now  echoed  the  young 
lady  herself,  still  listlessly. 

"  Amelia,  have  you  seen  my  thimble  ?  " 

The  door  leading  to  the  sitting-room  had  suddenly 
opened,  and  disclosed  Miss  Sophia  Garr  anxiously  seek- 
ing that  domestic  implement.  "  O  dear  me  !  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Mr.  Lang.  Amelia,  you  must  have  ob- 
served that  I  am  always  losing  my  thimble  ! " 

Amelia  arose  to  her  feet,  and,  pressing  her  hands  to 
her  temples,  spoke  more  hurriedly  than  her  faithful  in- 
structress had  ever  heard  her  speak  before :  "  What  has 
come  over  me  ?  My  head  aches  dreadfully.  Miss  Garr, 
you  will  be  kind  enough  to  entertain  Mr.  Lang,  who, 

1  hope,  will  excuse  me  for  the  remainder  of  the  even- 
ing.     I  am   really  quite  ill  now.     I  shall  be  stronger, 
yes,  stronger,  Mr.  Lang,  when  I  see  you  again.     Good 
night.'' 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  163 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

HOW  SOPHIA  EARNS  HER  SALARY. 

Miss  GARR  did  not  exactly  understand  the  situation  ; 
but  leaned  to  the  impression  that  her  own  marshalship 
had  left  her  master  of  the  field.  At  least,  she  was  now 
alone  with  Mr.  Lang,  and  she  proposed  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  occasion. 

The  broker  himself,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  much 
enraged  at  the  person  who  had  been  guilty  of  so  un- 
timely an  interruption.  Amelia  would  have  been  his  in 
the  next  moment.  Had  she  not  said  as  much?  Was 
she  not  going  to  be  stronger  next  time  ?  He  felt  the 
more  confident  of  this  since  it  confirmed  an  old  opinion 
of  his  —  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  found  no  little  warrant 
in  a  long  course  of  brilliant  successes  —  that  no  woman 
could  withstand  him.  Yet  it  was,  at  worst,  only  a  case 
of  certain  hope  deferred.  Miss  Garr  was  a  power  in  the 
house  of  Clayton,  and  he  could  not  afford  to  quarrel  with 
her  just  now.  Mr.  Lang,  therefore,  intrenched  his  anger 
behind  one  of  his  most  impermeable  smiles,  as  Miss  Sophia, 
the  peerless  Amazon  of  small-talk,  thus  laid  siege  :  — 

"  What  is  it  that  made  Amelia  so  red  in  the  face  ?  Oh ! 
you  naughty  fellow,  you  have  been  saying  something  to 
her!" 

"  I  was  merely  telling  her  a  story  from  Boccaccio." 

"  Boccaccio !  Why,  that  is  such  a  bad  book.  It  was 
expurgated  from  our  seminary  in  the  State  of  Maine ! 


164  GLOVERSON 

I  —  I  am  really,"  simpered  that  moral  lady,  "  I  am 
really  glad  I  was  not  here.  I  won't  hear  it,  so  you 
needn't  tell  it  to  me  —  unless  you  have  nothing  else  to 
tell  me ! " 

The  ground  for  this  familiarity  on  the  part  of  Miss 
Garr  will  be  best  seen,  through  the  present  state  of  Miss 
Garr's  affections  —  which  latter  were,  of  course,  only  a 
sort  of  pleasant  synecdoche  for  her  mining  speculations. 
In  her  bereavement  nothing  had  kept  Sophia  from  going 
into  mourning  for  the  missing  Karl  but  —  the  expense. 
She  had  come  to  congratulate  herself  that  she  had  not 
been  guilty  of  this  piece  of  extravagance.  Her  con- 
science, indeed,  smote  her  for  the  weeks  she  had  wasted 
in  profitless  grief.  This  it  will  be  remembered,  was  not 
the  first  time,  in  her  quest  for  the  h tin dred-and -fifty- 
pound  ingot,  that  the  hydraulic  process  had  been  attend- 
ed with  disastrous  results :  so  she  had  now  shut  off  her 
tears,  and  gone  higher  up  the  mountain  into  the  quartz 
rock.  In  other  words,  and  still  figurative,  she  had  kin- 
dled her  "  prospecting "  camp  fire  before  George  Lang 
himself. 

The  greatest  minds  have  been  more  or  less  subject  to 
monomania.  The  Daimon  of  Socrates  himself  was 
either  a  monstrous  development  of  conscience,  or  a  hal- 
lucination brought  about  by  the  want  of  proper  food  ; 
and  for  both  or  either  of  which,  he  might,  for  aught  we 
know,  have  been  indebted  to  Xantippe,  his  termagant 
wife.  Like  Socrates  and  Mahomet,  Miss  Sophia  Garr 
was  gifted  with  a  mania.  She  had  a  monstrous  belief  in 
the  marriageability  of  men ;  and  it  grew  with  defeat. 
There  had  been  a  time  in  her  experience,  when  the  be- 
leaguering of  George  Lang,  under  the  present  circum- 
stances, would  have  appeared  eminently  ridiculous ;  but 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  165 

disappointment  seems  to  be  the  stuff  that  mania  is  made 
of.  Besides,  who  of  us  is  above  flattery  ? 

The  success  which  had  attended  the  present  mining  ven- 
ture of  Miss  Garr  may  be  gleaned  from  the  outcroppings 
of  Mr.  Lang's  conversation  —  which  the  foregoing  para- 
graphs have  so  ill-manneredly  interrupted : 

"  Sophia,  my  girl,  what  shall  I  tell  you  ?  "  and  his  forti- 
fied smile  ran  a  bastion  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of 
his  face. 

"  Tell  me  anything  but  that  horrid  story,  or  you  will 
send  me  out  of  the  room  blushing,  too." 

"  I  could  not  think,  then,  of  bringing  such  a  catastrophe 
upon  myself.  We  will  talk  about  something  else.  I  sup- 
pose you  have  heard  of  Mrs.  Leadbetter's  luck  in  buying 
stock?" 

"  Mrs.  Leadbetter,"  said  Miss  Garr,  "  is  an  extraordi- 
nary —  a  model  woman :  she  looks  so  well  in  black.  It 
is  said  that  she  is  waiting  patiently  for  her  husband  to 
die,  so  she  can  dress  in  full  mourning  ;  but,  really,"  con- 
tinued Sophia,  with  a  curious  sigh,  "  Mrs.  Clayton  talks 
so  much  about  stocks  of  late,  that  I  would  much  rather 
hear  the  story  than  any  more  about  mines  —  speaking  ot 
two  evils,  you  know." 

"I  could  tell  you  a  more  modern  one,  Sophia,  my 
girl." 

"  Oh  !  I  see ;  you  insist  on  telling  the  same  shocking 
thing  from  Boccaccio,  under  another  name.  Why  will 
you,  now  ?  " 

"  The  more  modern  story,  Sophia,"  Lang  went  on,  now 
sure  of  allaying  her  unpleasant  curiosity,  "is  of  a  young 
man,  who,  going  to  woo  the  mistress  of  a  castle,  fell  in 
love  with  her  companion." 


166  GLOVERSON 

"  O  you  cruel  George  !  How  can  you  men  so  trifle 
with  our  poor  feelings  ?  You  know  it  is  all  we  have." 

Miss  Garr  was  here  guilty  of  an  injustice  to  herself. 
Leagued  with  her  mania,  she  also  had,  beside  her  poor 
feelings,  the  talent  (as  you  have  seen)  of  mingling  and 
confounding  what  she  wanted  to  be,  with  what  she  be- 
lieved would  be  —  the  same  inestimable  talent  that  en- 
ables some  politicians  to  wager  their*  all  on  their  own 
candidate,  without  ever  considering  the  chances  of  his 
being  elected.  A  husband  was  Miss  Garr's  candidate, 
and  the  practice  of  long,  busy  years  had  made  her  only 
the  more  eager  to  stake  her  all  of  hope  and  confidence 
and  belief,  as  in  the  present  instance,  on  the  slightest 
chance  of  an  election. 

Mr.  Lang  offered  no  rejoinder  to  Miss  Garr's  last 
speech.  He  dare  not  speak ;  he  dare  not  even  smile  — 
for  fear  of  laughing  outright. 

"Our  poor  feelings,  George" —  the  lady  continued, 
playing  a  minor  accompaniment  to  the  music  of  her 
voice  by  applying  her  handkerchief  alternately  to  the 
stops  of  her  nose  and  eyes  —  "our  poor  feelings,  they 
are  all  we  have,  and  —  and  —  I  did  not  know  I  had  so 
much  of  them  till  now ;  but  George,  did  that  modern 
young  man  marry  the  mistress  of  the  castle  —  or  —  or 
her  comp  —  companion  ?  " 

"  He  was  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  He  was  afraid  that  he 
had  compromised  himself  with  the  lady  he  had  first 
wooed." 

"  I  should  think,  the  companion  would  have  felt  aw- 
fully." 

"  You  do  not  understand  me,"  returned  Lang,  still  in 
great  peril  of  an  unseemly  laugh.  "  The  young  man  of 
the  story  was  afraid  that  he  had  so  compromised  himself 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  167 

with  the  daughter  of  the  castle,  as  to  have  proved  him- 
self ungrateful  to  the  lady  of  his  maturer  choice." 

"  But  his  fears  must  have  been  entirely  groundless  ! " 

"  Then,  Sophia,  my  girl,  we  need  not  any  longer  talk 
in  allegory." 

"  Not  at  all,  dear  George." 

"  You  know  my  secret,  now." 

"  And  you  know  mine,  dear  George." 

"  And  we  will  keep  them  to  ourselves." 

"  Yes,  yes,  as  long  as  you  may  think  it  prudent,  dear 
George." 

"  You  will  do  one  thing  more  for  me,  Sophia,  my  girl  ?  " 
insinuated  Lang,  as  he  arose  to  depart  and  took  her  by 
the  hand. 

"  Yes,  anything,  anything,  dearest  George." 

"  Well,  then,  be  sure  to  tell  me  everything  that  Ame- 
lia says  about  all  the  events  of  this  evening ;  from  the 
business  transactions, to  the  story  from  Boccaccio." 

"  Certainly,  certainly ;  but  dearest  George,  haven't  you 
forgotten  something  ?  " 

Lang  stopped  suddenly.  His  hand,  which  he  had 
already  extended  toward  the  door,  went  quickly  to  the 
breast  pocket  of  his  coat.  Feeling  the  papers  all  there, 
he  said,  opening  tire  door,  "  No,  I  think  not." 

"  Oh !  yes,  you  have." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  kiss  me  good-night." 

This  was  too  much,  thought  Lang,  as  he  looked 
around  uneasily :  "  I  dare  not,  Sophia,  somebody  will 
see  us." 

"  Come  in,  then,  and  shut  the  door." 

"  Some  one  will  hear  us,  on  the  inside." 

"  We  can  go  back  into  the  parlor." 


168  GLOVERSON 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  of  Mrs.  Clayton  there  ? " 
"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  dearest  George." 
"  We  might  as  well  risk  it  here,  then  —  who  cares  ?  " 
And   George   Lang  departed,  a  sadder,  and  a  wiser, 
and  a  bekissed  man. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  169 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

AMOS    DIXON   RECEIVES   A   THUNDERBOLT. 

NpT  many  days  had  elapsed  when  George  Lang  and 
the  astute  Mr.  Beanson  had  another  interview  with  Mrs. 
Clayton.  A  full  power  of  attorney  was  this  time  signed 
and  acknowledged.  Amelia's  presence  was  not  required. 

Mr.  Lang  left  his  compliments  for  her  and  would  call 
again  soon. 

Mrs.  Clayton  was  highly  impressed  by  the  condescension 
with  which  so  busy  a  man  as  the  prosperous  broker  had 
undertaken  the  additional  burden  of  her  affairs;  and 
Mrs.  Clayton  could  attribute  it  to  nothing  but  the  belief, 
in  which  she  had  also  taken  heavy  shares,  that  he  was  at 
no  distant  day  to  be  a  very  important  member  of  her  own 
family.  The  great  stock  excitement,  then  just  beginning, 
might  too  have  had  its  influence.  Whatsoever  the  cause, 
the  result  was  that  Lang  could  now  sell  any  and  all  of 
her  real  estate.  He  could  at  any  moment  take  advan- 
tage, for  Mrs.  Clayton,  of  any  profitable  speculation  that 
might  come  in  his  way. 

Amos  Dixon,  meantime,  had  been  more  than  once  at 
the  elegant  house  on  Folsom  Street.  He  had  weighed 
Amelia's  friendly  invitation  well,  and  had  gone  as  often 
as  he  dared  —  even  oftener  than  he  dared,  he  thought. 
For  when  he  came  to  look  back  over  the  last  two 
months,  he  could  remember  instances,  in  which,  he  be- 
lieved, he  had  positively  gone  against  his  own  will.  Yet 


170  GLOVERSON 

always  meeting  the  same  kindly  reception,  he  could  not 
see  that  he  had  made  any  progress.  The  mountain  be- 
tween Amelia  and  himself  seemed  just  as  steep,  and  just 
as  rugged,  and  just  as  far  off.'  The  constant  mention  of 
George  Lang's  name,  in  connection  with  hers,  had  added 
an  undefined  hopelessness  to  his  longing,  making  it  more 
silent,  while  it  made  it  more  profound.  The  torrent  had 
subsided  into  a  deep  pool,  in  which  he  could  not  see 
himself,  but  others  could  see  him  ;  for  he  stood  in  the 
slanting  light  of  his  own  unworthiness. 

There  was  observable  the  least  tinge  of  thoughtful- 
ness  in  the  face  of  Amos  —  a  settling  of  the  lines  there, 
that  seemed  to  push  more  of  the  soul  out. 

Wrinkle  after  wrinkle  had  disappeared  from  his  clothes 
—  a  fact  which  did  not  escape  his  employer,  Mr.  Andrew 
Gloverson.  "  Dixon,  old  fellow,"  said  that  portly  gentle- 
man, one  afternoon,  u  Dixon,  old  fellow,  you  -are  getting 
high-toned !  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Amos  meekly,  "  I  told  you,  you  were 
pushing  me  forward  too  fast." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Dixon  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  take  the  interest  in  your 
business  that  I  ought  to  take." 

"  O  you  be  d d,  Dixon  ;  you  suit  me.     Wait  till 

I  complain.  I  said  you  would  fit  this  place.  Am  I  a 
man  to  go  back  on  my  own  judgment,  say?  You  know 
it  was  my  judgment  that  saved  your  life,  when  you  were 
sick  last  summer." 

"  I  know,  Mr.  Gloverson,  that  I  owe  everything  to 
your  kindness.  And  I  thought,  may  be,  that  you  ought 
to  complain,  whether  you  did  or  not." 

"  Dixon,"  said  Mr.  Gloverson,  and  then  suddenly 
paused,  looking  at  his  cashier  from  head  to  foot,  consider- 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  171 

ing  what  to  say,  "  Dixon,"  he  repeated,  and  paused  again. 
This  time  a  flush  spread  over  the  face  of  the  chubby 
merchant  which  was  continued  in  the  watering  of  his 
eyes.  "  Dixon,  sir,  you  be  d d  !  "  And  Mr.  Glover- 
son  turned  silently  on  his  heel,  and  hobbled  out  of  the 
building. 

It  was  only  the  evening  after  this  forcible  argumenta- 
tion, that  Mr.  Dixon,  having  made  a  careful  toilet,  again 
called  on  Folsom  Street. 

After  mature  study,  Miss  Garr  had  concluded  to  rec- 
ognize Amos,  but  in  a  kind  of  iceberg  manner,  crushing 
him  while  she  froze  him.  When,  therefore,  he  was 
shown  into  the  parlor,  Sophia  bowed  stiffly,  as  Amelia 
arose  and  graciously  extended  her  hand.  In  the  Gulf 
Stream  of  pleasant  talk  which  succeeded,  and  into  which 
Miss  Garr  had  necessarily  drifted,  with  all  her  polar 
snows  about  her,  she  did  not  melt  one  tittle.  By  a  dex- 
terous turn  she  brought  Lang's  name  into  the  conversa- 
tion, and  it  fell  on  two  of  the  company  like  an  Arctic 
wind  on  the  Bermudas. 

Amos  saw  the  impression  it  had  made  on  Amelia,  and 
without  knowing  it,  sighed.  Now  he  knew,  as  his  fears 
had  long  told  him,  that  the  attractive  broker  was  some- 
thing besides  the  business  agent  of  the  family.  It  would 
be  horrible  to  have*  any  more  definite  information  ;  to 
know  that  his  own  visits  were  too  frequent ;  or  that  his 
presence  was  ungrateful.  Yet,  he  felt  sure  now,  that  this 
knowledge  must  some  day  come.  Yes,  it  must  come ; 
but  then,  why  would  it  be  so  horrible,  after  all  ?  Could 
he  not  love  her  secretly  and  silently,  as  he  always  had, 
even  if  she  were  another's?  On  mature  consideration 
he  thought  this  would  be  inconvenient.  He  would  rather 


172  GLOVERSON 

not.  Finally  he  broke  the  prevailing  silence,  continuing 
his  musings  aloud  :  "  After  all,  one  cannot  help  envying 
Mr.  Lang  his  success." 

"In  business?"  demanded  Miss  Garr, determined  to  be 
more  flattered  still,  even  by  her  worthless  enemy. 

"  No,  not  in  business,"  replied  Amos  very  quietly. 

Somehow,  Amelia  was  studying  the  carpet. 

'•  Well,"  volunteered  Miss  Sophia,  with  the  character- 
istic long  breath,  with  which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  putting 
her  truths  in  italics,  "  I  am  thankful  for  one  thing,  /am 
not  of  a  jealous  disposition.  I  might  have  an  understand- 
ing with  George  —  I  mean  Mr.  Lang,  but  it  is  probable  I 
have  not.  At  any  rate  I  can  keep  a  secret.  And  I  be- 
lieve I  will  go.  I  may  have  an  engagement  with  Mr. 
Lang  this  evening,  and  the  time  may  be  up  now ;  but  I 
believe  I  will  go.  At  least  1  am  not  of  a  jealous  disposi- 
tion." 

These  were  the  scoria  of  Sophia's  wrongs.  The 
eruption  of  the  ice  volcano  had  ceased  ;  and  yet  there 
were  more  light  and  warmth  in  the  parlor  where  Amos 
sat  alone  with  Amelia. 

It  was  some  time  before  either  of  them  spoke ;  but  it 
seemed  to  Mr.  Dixon,  afterwards,  that  he  had  heard  and 
said  more  in  that  minute  interval  than  he  should  ever 
hear  or  say  again.  At  least,  when  he  attempted  to  sus- 
tain his  part  of  the  conversation,  which  Amelia  had  com- 
menced, he  found  himself  borne  more  and  more  from  the 
pleasant  tropics  of  the  preceding  silence. 

"  You  see  I  humor  her  eccentricities  for  my  mother's 
sake." 

"  Ah  !  whose  eccentricities,  Miss  Clayton  ?  " 

"  Miss  Garr's,"  replied  Amelia,  noticing  the  abstrac- 
tion of  Amos.  They  had  been  speaking  of  Sophia  for 
several  moments  past. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  173 

"  Yes,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Clayton." 

"  But  there  is,  or  was,  one  thing  I  could  not  humor," 
continued  Amelia,  "  and  that  was  her  French,  addressed 
confidentially  to  me  in  company.  I  believe  that  is 
thoroughly  stopped  now." 

Amos  was  still  thoughtful.  He  was  wondering  how  it 
was  that,  away  from  Jkliss  Clayton,  he  could  think  of  so 
many  things  he  was  going  to  say  to  her  —  which  must  be 
eloquent,  because  they  were  so  true;  and  how  it  was 
that,  approaching  her,  especially  of  late,  was  like  walking 
toward  the  sunset.  The  nearer  he  came,  the  farther  off 
seemed  his  beautiful  things  on  the  horizon  of  his  thought. 
He  had  now  followed  them  into  a  still  twilight  —  a  sort 
of  pleasant  border-land  of  silence. 

"  But,  by  the  way,"  Amelia  went  on, "  whom  do  you 
think  Miss  Garr  proposes  to  marry  now  ?  " 

This  sentence  thrown  out  carelessly  to  float  the  conver- 
sation, was  not  finished  before  Miss  Clayton  was  sorry 
she  had  not  chosen  some  other  one. 

"  It  is  easier  to  pity  the  person  in  advance  than  guess," 
returned  Amos,  endeavoring  to  emerge  from  his  abstrac- 
tion. "  Who  is  it,  pray  ?  " 

"  I  believe  it  is  really  Mr.  Lang." 

"  Then,"  said  Amos,  "  she  must  be  going  to  some  party 
in  the  neighborhood,  may  be  at  Mrs.  Leadbetter's,  where 
she  expects  to  meet  him.  Do  you  think  she  had  an  en- 
gagement with  him  to  that  effect  ?  " 

"  I  could  not,  Mr.  Dixon,  possibly  tell." 

"And  yet  —  and  yet,  I  should  think  you  would  be 
anxious  to  know." 

"  Oh  !  she  has  not  gone  far." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  so  much  of  Miss  Garr  as  — 
as  of"  — 


174  GLOVERSON 

A  slight  knock  was  heard  at  the  parlor  door,  which 
opening  immediately  after,  the  servant  announced  — 

"  Mr.  Lang." 

That  gentleman  advanced  briskly,  and  rather  auda- 
ciously, under  cover  only  of  the  most  defensive  of  smiles. 
Having  saluted  Amelia,  he  turned  to  Amos.  "  How  do 
you  do,  Dixon  ?  Ah  !  the  bee  and  the  floweret ;  but  I 
have  caught  you  at  it  this  time." 

This  familiarity  was  appalling  to  Amos.  "  Well  — 
yes,"  he  said,  and  could  get  no  further ;  for  he  was  over- 
come anew  by  .the  confident  air  with  which  Lang  drew 
his  chair  nearer  to  Amelia's  than  his  own  had  ever  been. 

"  How  it  blooms  !  —  though  it  is  evening,"  the  broker 
rattled  on,  as  he  looked  toward  Amelia.  Turning  again 
to  Amos :  "  'Twas  so  appropriate  ;  let  me  repeat :  the  bee 
and  the  floweret." 

"  Well,  yes,"  again  remarked  Mr.  Dixon,  answering  a 
certain  tone  in  Lang's  voice,  "  but  I  did  not  mean  to  rob 
you  of  your  honey." 

"  Or  to  sting  me  either,  Mr.  Lang,  I  venture  to  say," 
added  Amelia. 

Amos  arose  to  his  feet  and  walked  unsteadily  toward 
the  door. 

Amelia  glanced  a  look  of  inquiry  from  Dixon  to  Lang. 
There  was  a  light  in  the  broker's  eyes  that  she  had  never 
seen  there  before  —  or  were  they  light  at  all,  those  pul- 
sations of  increasing  blackness  ?  She  could  count  his 
heart-beats  in  his  eyes.  Springing  to  her  feet,  she  ex- 
claimed, "  Stop,  Mr.  Dixon,  what  —  what  can  be  the 
matter  ?  " 

Great  shocks  take  away  speech.  The  look  that  Amos 
turned  toward  her  was  pitiful. 

"  Mr.  Dixon,"  and  Amelia  coming  nearer  laid  her  hand 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  175 

gently  on  his  arm,  "  are  you  ill  ?  What  has  come  over 
you  ? " 

Amos  leaning  himself  against  the  door  recovered  his 
breath. 

"  What  has  come  over  you,  Mr.  Dixon  ? "  asked 
Amelia  again. 

"  Something  that  —  that  had  to  come  sometime. 
Good-by.  May  —  may  God  bless  you."  And  Amos 
walked  firmly  out  of  the  house. 

Amelia,  confused  by  what  she  did  not  understand,  be- 
cause she  had  not  had  time  to  reflect,  sank  on  a  sofa ; 
and  George  Lang,  elated  by  the  foregoing  scene,  and 
now  all  confidence,  took  his  place  by  her  side. 


176  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XX. 

FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OP  MR.  A.  DIXON. 

IT  was  a  powerful  exertion  of  will  which  sustained 
Amos,  as  he  left  the  elegant  house.  He  did  not  con- 
sider the  injustice  done  Amelia,  in  thinking  that  she 
would  give  him  such  a  dismissal,  at  such  a  time.  He 
did  not  consider  that  what  he  worshipped  in  her  was 
just  what  would  make  her  incapable  of  an  act  so  ungen- 
erous. He  did  not  consider  anything,  but  that  his  ap- 
prehensions had  been  realized.  He  could  not  even 
remember  the  words  of  his  sentence ;  he  only  believed 
that  it  was  just. 

Half  the  lover  quarrels  of  this  earth  spring  from  the 
jealous  misinterpretation  of  a  word,  or  a  look.  Long, 
weary  exiles  of  the  heart  have  been  pronounced  in  a 
little  spiteful  moment  of  silence.  But  Amos  Dixon 
knew  nothing  of  this.  He  felt  that  he  did  not  deserve 
the  paradise  he  was  leaving ;  and  left  it,  looking  back 
upon  the  flaming  sword,  without  anger. 

He  walked,  sometimes  fast,  sometimes  slow,  caring  not 
whither,  so  that  he  went  in  the  one  direction  of  the  will 
which  had  sustained  him,  and  which  bore  him  away  from 
the  place  where  his  doom  had  been  pronounced. 

It  was  yet  early  evening.  Amos  had  wandered  about 
thus  listlessly  for  over  half  an  hour,  when  his  attention 
was  arrested  by  a  strain  of  music.  There  was  something 
in  it  that  made  him  pause  for  a  moment,  and  consider 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  177 

where  he  was.  He  found  himself  on  Kearny  Street, 
between  Post  and  Sutter,  and  had  not  done  wondering 
how  he  came  there  when  the  music  ceased.  In  the  state 
Amos  was  then  in,  the  sound  seemed  to  have  issued 
from  the  air  about  him.  He  could  not  think  where  it 
came  from. 

He  walked  on  a  block  or  two  up  Kearny  Street,  ask- 
ing himself  continually  why  this  music  should  have 
stopped  him.  Suddenly  the  same  strain  connected  it- 
self in  his  mind  with  the  bird  song,  he  had  heard  on  the 
lawn  in  front  of  the  elegant  house  on  Folsom  Street ; 
and  both,  as  suddenly,  with  the  first  evening  he  had 
spent  in  the  company  of  Amelia.  Why  should  this 
music  sound  so  familiar  when  he  was  sure  it  was  none 
of  the  popular  melodies  of  the  day  ? 

Arnos  turned  around  and  retraced  his  steps,  glad  to 
have  something  to  lift  his  thoughts  from  the  one  painful 
theme.  He  nursed  his  curiosity.  Walking  with  his 
head  down,  Mr.  Dixon  had  again  passed  Sutter  Street, 
before  he  looked  up. 

Then  he  went  no  farther. 

He  looked  up  because  he  heard  a  voice  that  thrilled 
him  all  over.  It  was  Amelia's ;  and  she  was  standing 
with  George  Lang,  not  six  steps  from  him.  This  was  to 
Amos  almost  the  shock  of  the  parlor  over  again.  But 
they  did  not  see  him.  Their  faces  were  turned  the  other 
way,  and  both  seemed  listening  intently. 

This  is  what  Amos  heard  Amelia  say : 

"  I  am  sure  it  was  the  *  Song  of  Friendship ! ' " 

As  soon  as  he  could,  Amos  wheeled  about  again,  and, 
turning  the  corner  of  Sutter  Street,  fled  as  if  pursued. 
He  may  have  had  little  of  the  pride  that  lovers  feel,  but 
not  for  worlds  would  he  have  had  Amelia  think  he  was 

12 


178  GLOVERSON 

following  her.  At  that  time,  George  Lang  did  not 
occupy  much  space  in  the  mind  of  the  fugitive.  It  was 
afterwards  that  Dixon  felt  his  old  dislike  for  the  broker 
increasing;  and  that  he  would  be  annihilated  before  he 
would  stir  a  step  out  of  his  way  for  George  Lang. 

Amos  slackened  his  pace  at  Montgomery  Street,  and 
threaded  his  way  thoughtfully  up  that  thoroughfare. 
Now  that  Amelia  was  lost  to  him,  he  dwelt  with  a  tender 
melancholy  upon  every  little  remembered  act  of  kindness 
he  had  received  at  her  hands.  The  sun  seems  larger  as 
it  sinks  into  the  sea.  He  thought,  as  he  walked  along, 
how  often  Amelia  had  come  to  his  rescue.  The  first 
evening  on  which  he  had  met  her,  and  now  on  the  very 
last,  her  voice  had  explained  away  an  embarrassment. 
Had  it  not  just  cleared  up  the  mystery  of  that  music  ? 
To  be  sure  it  was  the  "  Song  of  Friendship  "  —  the  song 
that  Karl  had  sung.  Thus,  to  Amos  his  meeting  and 
parting  with  Amelia  were  strangely  connected  by  this 
melody,  and  the  sadder  music  of  her  voice. 

Then  he  began  to  think  of  Karl,  and  wondered  who 
could  be  playing  his  music.  With  the  idea  of  Karl,  came 
the  more  confused  one  of  his  aquatic  theory,  about  the 
ocean  and  misery.  "  I  am  truly  miserable,"  sighed  Amos, 
"  and  I  will  once  more  take  to  water." 

So  he  toiled  up  Telegraph  Hill  again,  thinking  of  the 
ghost,  or,  more  probably,  ihe  illusion  he  had  seen  there, 
and  wondering,  too,  how  it  was  that  nothing  could  happen 
to  him  of  late  without  having  some  connection  with  Ame- 
lia. Making  the  ascent  slowly,  and  stopping  every  now 
and  then  to  breathe,  he  observed  the  moon  rising  out  of 
the  haze  that  covered  the  opposite  mountains.  "It  was 
just  sinking  into  the  waters,  as  I  left  here  before," 
thought  Amos,  "  what  if  there  were  some  hope  for  me 
behind  it  ?  " 


AND  HIS  SILENT   PARTNERS.  179 

Just  as  he  had  reached  the  identical  spot  from  which 
the  figure  had  seemed  to  disappear,  on  that  other  occa- 
sion, a  crash,  as  of  subterranean  thunder,  shook  the  crag 
beneath  his  feet.  No  earthquake  —  and  he  had  felt 
many  during  his  sojourn  on  the  Pacific  coast  —  had  ever 
so  startled  Amos.  His  nerves  had  never  been  so  well 
prepared  for  a  shock.  The  sound  had  leaped  from  rock 
to  rock,  and  spent  its  short  boisterous  life  in  the  hollows 
of  the  distant  hills,  before  he  had  calmed  himself  with 
the  assurance  that  it  was  nothing  but  the  gun  of  the 
Oregon  steamer,  then  due. 

It  flashed  upon  him  immediately  after,  that  a  steamer 
had  been  coming  in,  the  night  he  had  seen  the  figure  on 
this  same  cliff.  What  if  the  cannon  were  the  trumpet 
that  called  up  this  shape  ?  But  then  ghosts  were  all 
nonsense.  What  would  Mr.  Gloverson  say  to  a  belief 
in  them  ?  And  Amos  shuddered ;  for  he  was  framing 
to  himself  the  sweeping  allocution  of  his  employer's 
infallible  judgment  against  all  manner  of  disembodied 
spirits.  No ;  •  the  cannon  could  be  heard  over  in  Lone 
Mountain  cemetery,  but  then  a  cannon  cannot  call  up 
ghosts. 

With  this  thought,  Amos  turned  his  face  toward  the 
land,  and  the  white  grave-stones  of  Lone  Mountain 
seemed  to  be  coming  nearer,  as  the  moon,  rising  higher 
and  higher,  began  to  pave  with  silver  the  silent  streets 
of  the  city  of  the  dead.  He  heard  the  coming  steamer, 
and  was  going  to  revert  his  attention  to  the  bay  below, 
when  his  eye  was  caught  by  something  that  approached 
through  the-  shadow  of  the  cliff.  As  it  emerged  slowly 
into  the  moonlight,  he  recognized  the  shape  —  the  same 
that  had  beckoned  to  him. 

This  was  too  much  for  his  credulity.     Amos  believed 


180  GLOVERSON 

that  he  was  dreaming,  and  would  wake  up  in  the  morn- 
ing, in  his  own  little  room,  to  shake  off,  as  he  had  done 
more  than  once,  the  nightmare  of  this  illusion.  In 
this  belief  he  stood  and  calmly  watched  it  coming  nearer 
and  nearer,  and  apparently  straight  towards  him,  —  the 
figure  of  a  woman,  clad  in  the  same  mysterious  gray, 
with  a  cloak  of  like  material,  thrown  over  the  head  and 
shoulders,  something  as  the  Italian  painters  represent  the 
Mater  Dolorosa. 

Thus  noiselessly  she  came.  Amos  held  his  breath; 
for  her  dishevelled  hair  of  perfect  whiteness,  streaming 
from  under  the  covering  of  her  head,  almost  touched 
him  as  she  passed.  But  she  did  not  notice  him,  in  the 
least.  Her  eyes  were  bent  straight  ahead  of  her,  and 
seemed  to  diffuse  a  wild  light  over  what  little  of  her  face 
was  visible. 

Pausing  a  few  paces  from  him,  and  leaning  one  hand 
upon  a  projecting  rock,  with  the  other  she  caught  up  the 
loose  folds  of  her  cloak,  and  commenced  waving  at  the 
steamer  passing  below. 

There  she  stood  as  long  as  the  steamer  was  in  sight. 
The  vic/br  seemed  to  go  from  her  arm  as  gradually  as  the 
object  she  was  waving  at  disappeared.  Then,  heaving  a 
deep  sigh,  she  turned  and  descended  as  she  had  come ; 
and  was  soon  lost  to  view  in  the  shadows  of  the  cliffs. 

Amos,  in  the  interval,  had  had  time  to  convince  him- 
self that  he  was  really  awake,  and  at  least  a  good  mile 
from  his  little  room  on  Clary  Street.  This  conviction 
was  accompanied  with  an  undefined  feeling,  which  he 
dared  not,  to  himself,  call  gladness,  because,  even  at  the 
distance  at  which  he  saw  it,  there  was  something  so  sad 
in  the  rapt  eagerness  of  that  face,  as  it  turned  away  to- 
ward the  land.  This,  too,  it  was  that  restrained  him  from 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  181 

following  the  vanishing  figure.  He  would  not  pry  into 
her  misery,  yet  why  should  it  lessen  his  own  ? 

Besides,  why  did  all  seem  the  repetition  of  what  he 
had  seen  and  done  and  felt  before  ?  Why  did  the  whole 
scene,  although  he  was  awake,  come  back  upon  him  like 
the  hazy  landscape  of  an  oft-repeated  dream ;  with  just 
one  abyss  on  the  brink  of  which  his  recollection  paused  ; 
with  the  known  on  this  side,  and  the  unknown  beyond ; 
and  the  chasm,  dark,  impassable,  still  between  ? 

As  he  stood  alone  in  the  light  of  the  moon,  which  now 
shone  out  in  a  clear  sky,  this  undefined  feeling  grew 
stronger  upon  Amos.  It  was,  indeed,  peculiar,  —  some- 
thing like  what  one  feels  when  a  dear  friend,  who  has 
spent  long  years  in  suffering,  dies  at  last.  It  is  not  the 
sunlight  of  joy,  or  the  night  of  sorrow,  but  a  sort  of  mel- 
low moonlight  that  borrows  from  both. 

So  Amos  turned  his  steps  homeward,  feeling  —  and 
he  could  not  tell  why  —  glad  that  it  was  no  dream. 


182  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XXL 
POP! 

AMELIA  had  not  been  long  in  discovering  why  Amos 
had  left  the  parlor  and  the  house  so  strangely.  It  had 
been  necessary  only  to  calm  herself  enough  to  thread 
her  way  back  through  the  conversation  that  had  immedi- 
ately preceded.  She  had  not  merely  discovered ;  she 
had  explored:  for  in  no  other  way  could  Mr.  Dixon 
have  bared  his  heart  to  her  so  entirely.  Given  the 
effect,  and  there  is  probably  no  one  of  her  sex  who 
would  not,  very  soon,  have  come  to  the  cause  —  by  a  pro- 
cess which  is  called  a  posteriori  with  men,  and  which 
is  chain  lightning  with  women. 

Amelia  now  took  time  to  notice  George  Lang,  who, 
from  his  end  of  the  sofa,  was  contemplating  her  with 
some  of  the  pleased  confidence  with  which  he  was  wont 
to  regard  her  mother.  This  did  not  escape  her ;  and, 
what  is  rather  odd,  helped  to  restore  her  to  perfect  equa- 
nimity. She  arose  quietly  froni  his  side,  and  seated  her- 
self on  a  chair  by  the  window. 

While  Lang  mused  on  the  fitfulness  of  women,  and 
the  advantage  of  understanding  them  so  thoroughly, 
Amelia  contemplated  the  closely-drawn  curtains.  -It 
must  have  been  an  unconscious  impulse,  for  she  certainly 
did  not  think  she  could  trace,  through  them  and  the 
early  starlight,  the  retreating  figure  of  Amos.  "  What," 
said  she,  "  could  have  made  him  misunderstand  me  so  ?  " 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  188 

"  His  intellects,"  responded  the  broker,  with  an  easy 
sneer,  "  his  intellects  which  are  "  — 

Here  the  current  of  Lang's  talk  struck  a  hidden  rock. 
Amelia  suddenly  drew  herself  up  and  turned  upon  him 
in  that  grand  way  that  some  spirited  girls  have.  It  must 
be  left  to  the  memory  of  those  who  have  witnessed  the 
like  of  it.  Its  portrayal  belongs  to  another  branch  of 
art  —  to  the  chisel,  rather  than  the  pen.  There  are  mo- 
ments of  transfiguration  when  the  divinity  of  woman- 
hood is  manifest,  and  she  becomes  like  some  antique, 
sculptured  Psyche,  in  her  heroic  grandeur,  larger  than 
the  life. 

But  was  this  a  trivial  matter  for  so  much  grandeur  ? 
What  is  the  measure  of  indignation  ?  The  ocean,  to 
which,  in  the  powerful  silence  preserved  about  its  own 
pearls,  something  in  Amelia's  nature  has  already  been 
compared  —  the  sublime  sea  that  tosses  navies  in  its 
palm,  and  keeps  the  earth  in  balance  —  spends  ages,  like- 
wise, in  rounding  a  pebble. 

"  Which  are,  you  will  admit,"  —  this  was  the  smoother 
channel  into  which  the  current  of  Lang's  talk  deflected, 
—  "  which  are,  you  will  admit,  not  exactly  the  intellects 
of  a  Socrates?' 

Amelia  only  looked  at  him,  —  a  response  to  which,  as 
has  been  seen,  he  never  made  a  like  rejoinder.  This 
was,  indeed,  the  first  time  that  the  handsome  broker  had, 
to  her,  seemed  contemptible.  The  human  heart,  it 
would  appear,  acts  sometimes  on  the  converse  of  a  com- 
mon principle  in  physics :  A  body  impelled  by  two 
forces,  at  an  angle  to  each  other,  moves  in  a  diagonal 
direction :  To  sneer  at  a  rival,  is  to  praise  him  and 
abuse  yourself. 

The  broker  began  to  be  piqued  at  Amelia's  silence. 


184  GLOVERSON 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  it  is  very  evident  that  Mr.  Dixon  is  an 
admirer  of  yours ;  and,  by  the  way"  (with  a  delicate  curl 
of  the  lip),  "  /  may  be  mistaken.  In  your  estimation, 
he  may  have  the  intellects  of  Socrates." 

"  Mr.  Lang,  in  my  estimation  Mr.  Dixon  has  neither 
the  head  nor  the  heart  to  do  a  thing  so  cowardly,  behind 
your  back,  as  you  are  doing  now  behind  his.  If  he  has 
not  the  intellect  of  Socrates,  he  has  not  the  soul  of 
lago." 

It  was  the  tone  and  manner  that  made  this  speech. 
Both  partook  of  the  cause  that  inspired  it.  A  statue  of 
Pity  would  be  the  modern  Palladium  of  the  wisest  of  the 
sex.  Protection,  in  her  weak  way,  is  the  mighty  heroism 
of  woman. 

As  strange  as  it  may  seem,  Lang,  at  that  moment, 
thought  less  of  Amelia's  anger  than  of  Dixon's  presump- 
tion. This,  coupled  to  the  officiousness  which  Mr.  Glov- 
erson's  cashier  had  manifested  after  Karl's  disappear- 
ance, had  so  added  to  Lang's  hatred,  that  he  had  lost  his 
temper.  With  his  usual  suspicion,  the  broker  had  come 
to  regard  Amos  as  cleverer  than  he  seemed;  but  had 
never  dreamed  of  him  as  a  rival.  He  thought  of  him 
now  only  as  an  officious  dolt,  who  dared  to  be  presump- 
tuous. 

"  But  then  the  girl  must  be  mollified,"  he  thought, 
turning  to  Amelia.  "It  would  do  her  good  to  cry,"  he 
continued  to  himself,  in  his  peculiar  philosophy  of 
women.  "  Crying  always  does  them  good.  It  makes 
them  easier  to  manage.  Yet  the  thing  of  it  is,  she 
doesn't  cry  ;  but  seems  getting  calmer  all  the  time,  with- 
out a  word  from  me." 

He  began,  nevertheless,  in  tjie  meekest  manner,  to 
smooth  away  everything  he  had  said,  and  gradually  to 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  185 

change  the  subject.  At  last,  he  proposed  a  walk  to  Peter 
Job's  for  an  ice,  arguing  that  he  could  well  afford  to  wait 
an  hour  or  two,  before  he  asked  the  formal  question, 
which  was  to  put  him  in  possession  of  so  handsome  a 
fortune. 

Amelia  seemed  glad  to  go,  and  Lang,  seeing  her  so 
easily  moulded  to  his  wishes,  wholly  regained  his  tem- 
per. 

So  they  walked  out  into  the  pleasant  starlight  which 
had  succeeded  the  morning  rain  of  that  balmy  winter- 
time. 

They  had  turned  from  Market  into  Kearny,  and  were 
proceeding  leisurely  along  between  Sutter  and  Post 
Streets,  when  Amelia,  involuntarily  grasping  Lang's  arm, 
stopped  suddenly.  The  last  bars  of  the  melody  which 
had  arrested  Amos  were  dying  on  the  air. 

"  What  do  you  see  ?  "  asked  the  broker,  stopping  too, 
and  looking  about  him  serenely. 

"  Listen,  Mr,  Lang  ! " 

«  To  what  ?  " 

"  To  Karl's  song  ! " 

If  Amelia's  attention  had  not  been  wholly  absorbed 
in  another  direction,  she  might  have  been  aware  of  a 
momentary  tremor  in  the  broker's  arm. 

In  the  commotion  of  his  feelings,  vanity  was  the  bubble 
that  came  to  the  surface.  "  Words  or  music  ?  "  he  de- 
majided. 

"  Music,  on  a  violin." 

<k  I  did  not  hear  it.  Nobody  but  Karl  knows  the , 
music.  It  is  impossible." 

While  she  was  listening,  Lang  had  time  to  recover 
himself.  "Pshaw!"  said  he,  "I  hear  nothing.  We 
could  scarcely  distinguish  a  fiddle,  across  a  continent; 


186  GLOVERSON 

for  Karl  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  world,  by  this  time. 
Shall  we  go  on  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  please.  I  am  sure  it  was  the  '  Song  of 
Friendship  ' ; "  and  Amelia  listened  again. 

The  music  was  not  repeated. 

"  It  is  rather  fortunate,"  resumed  Lang,  after  a  short 
silence,  attempting  to  explain  any  embarrassment  he 
might  have  manifested,  "  very  fortunate,  in  fact,  for  those 
who  are  near,  that  Karl  is  so  far  away.  I  am  afraid,  Miss 
Clayton,  we  are  indebted  for  this  shock  to  your  own 
fancy,  in  which  Karl  seems  to  hold  so  large  a  place. 
Were  it  not  for  my  jealousy,  I  should  bless  you  for  this 
interest  in  my  old  friend.  Shall  we  go  now  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we  must,"  and  they  proceeded  to 
their  destination. 

In  the  saloon  of  the  well-known  Mr.  Peter  Job,  the 

broker  observed  that  Amelia  was  rather  more  silent  than 

* 
was  her  wont.     His  infallible  philosophy  of  the  sex  was 

not  long  in  suggesting  a  cure  for  this  ;  and  he  applied  it 
thus  :  He  seemed  all  at  once  to  be  stricken  with  a  deep 
interest  in  the  gay  groups  assembled  about  the  tables  of 
that  fashionable  retreat ;  bowing  to  all  his  acquaintance, 
and  smiling  bewitchingly  at  the  prettiest  of  the  ladies. 
He  was  peculiarly  absorbed  in  the  toilette  of  a  reigning 
belle,  with  whose  name  his  own  had  once  been  connected 
in  the  gossip  of  Rincon  Hill.  He  could  talk  of  nothjng 
else. 

This,  however,  did  not  seem  to  have  the  desired  effect. 
Amelia  was  more  silent  than  ever.  There  was  not  the 
proper  light  in  her  face  ;  it  was,  therefore,  no  jealous 
spite  that  kept  her  so  still.  Without  knowing  it,  Lang 
had  been  looking  her  in  the  eyes;  for  these,  although 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  187 

turned  in  his  direction,  had  something  so  dreamy  and 
indefinite  about  them,  then,  that  for  once  he  did  not  feel 
their  rebuke. 

Lang  was  puzzled.  His  philosophy  could  not  be  at 
fault.  It  must  be  the  woman  that  was  wrong ;  "  and,"  he 
concluded,  after  musing  a  while,  "  she  must  be  in  love 
with  some  one  else !  " 

They  were  walking  leisurely,  and  rather  taciturnly 
toward  Folsom  Street,  when  Amelia,  without  the  least 
warning,  propounded  this  question  :  — 

"  Mr.  Lang,  could  not  Mr.  Schmerling  still  be  in  the 
city?" 

The   broker   was    both    surprised    and    enlightened. 

"  That's  the  man,"  thought  he.  "  She  is  in  love  with 
Karl.  He  was  not  gotten  out  of  the  way  quick  enough." 
—  "  Karl  in  the  city,"  was  Lang's  answer,  "  and  I  not 
know  it  ?  Impossible !  " 

"  Yet  you  are  sure  no  one  else  knows  his  music  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Clayton ;  and,  —  you  will  pardon  me  for 
saying  it,  —  I  am  still  surer  that  you  are  mistaken  about 
having  heard  it  —  but  see !  the  moon  is  coming  up." 

"  I  was  never  so  certain  of  anything,"  said  Amelia 
aloud,  but  to  herself.  "  I  will  have  it  inquired  into  to- 
morrow. I  think  I  know  the  house." 

"  So  do  I,"  rejoined  Lang,  hurriedly,  "  I  will  investigate 
it  myself." 

"  And  let  me  know  the  result  immediately  ?" 

"  The  first  thing  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Lang." 

Which,  at  that  time,  and  under  the  circumstances, 

produced  very  much  the  same  effect,  as  would  have  re- 
sulted from  "  Curse  you,  Mr.  Lang."  This  was  the  echo 


188  GLOVERSON 

Amelia's  mellow  voice  made,  then,  in  the  dark  places  of 
that  gentleman's  mind. 

In  her  mother's  parlor  the  young  lady  seemed  more 
herself,  and  Lang  began  to  relapse  into  the  quiet  of  his 
old  belief,  namely,  that  it  was  only  a  passing  fancy  she 
had  for  Karl  —  a  species  of  musical  attachment ;  and 
second,  that  nothing  could  stand  before  the  united 
strength  of  his  claims  and  Mrs*  Clayton's  authority.  But 
why  should  he  not  also  let  music  —  and  that  her  own  — 
pave  a  gentle  pathway  for  him?  Was  not  music  the 
disembodied  spirit  of  speech  ?  and  could  it  not  go  where 
words  couldn't  ? 

"  Will  you  not  favor  me  with  something  on  the  piano, 
Miss  Clayton  ?  " 

Amelia  seated  herself  directly  at  the  instrument,  and, 
without  any  prelude,  began  to  sing  and  play  "  The  Song 
of  Friendship." 

Since  Karl's  disappearance  she  had  thought  of  him  so 
much,  that,  by  a  sort  of  association  of  memory,  she  her- 
self had  learned  to  play  the  music  and  sing  the  song. 
In  fact,  the  melody  had  come  always  to  suggest  the  idea 
of  Karl ;  and  the  idea  of  Karl  had  come  to  suggest  the 
melody. 

Thus  the  spirit  of  the  song  was  carried  out,  even  be- 
yond the  imagination  of  Karl.  He  himself  has  said  of 
it :  "  The  music  is  but  the  necessary  double  of  the  words." 
In  Amelia's  memory,  Karl  had  become  the  necessary 
double  of  the  music. 

Lang  was  both  startled  and  gratified.  He  believed  he 
had  never  before  received  so  handsome  a  compliment, 
and  Amelia  had  never  been  so  gracious  and  so  lovely. 
He  thought  more  of  himself,  first,  and  more  of  her,  last. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  189 

If  a  choir  of  angels,  chanting  the  minstrelsy  of  the 
skies,  and  a  choir  of  mortals,  chanting  what  he  had  writ- 
ten, were  arranged  like  a  Greek  chorus  and  anti-chorus 
about  the  death-bed  of  a  young  author,  to  which  would 
he  turn  his  dying  ear  ? 

"  Miss  Clayton,  I  am  delighted,"  exclaimed  George, 
when  the  song  was  ended  ;  "  really  delighted,"  and  —  he 
told  the  truth  for  once. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Lang,"  was  Amelia's  abstracted 
reply. 

"  Bless  you,  Mr.  Lang,"  was  the  echo  which  Amelia's 
mellow  voice  now  made  in  the  mind  of  the  gratified 
broker. 

"  There  has,"  said  Amelia,  still  abstractedly,  "  always 
been  a  dear  genius  about  that  song." 

"  How  can  you  be  so  flattering,  my  dear  Miss  Clay- 
ton ?  "  rejoined  Lang,  of  course  misunderstanding  her. 
"  I  never  thought  myself  a  genius,"  he  continued,  in  that 
kind  of  modesty  which  is  the  height  of  vanity ;  "  never, 
never  in  the  world.  It  is  true  that  a  man  may  have 
written  but  one  poem,  like  Gray,  or  painted  but  one  cat, 
like  some  old  painter  I  have  read  about,  and  still  have 
been  a  genius,  yet  that  is  no  proof  that  I  am  one  of  them. 
No  ; "  and  his  eyes  and  voice  fell  with  an  expression  of 
intense  humility.  "  No,  no.  God  raises  up  geniuses,  as 
he  does  the  mountains.  They  are  the  natural  barriers 
to  the  oceans  of  mediocrity  and  dullness  throughout  the 
ages." 

"  And  to  be  candid,  Mr.  Lang,"  said  Amelia,  probably 
for  the  first  time  that  evening,  recollecting  who  had  writ- 
ten the  words,  "  I  must  say  that  I  have  somehow  thought 
better  of  you  ever  since  I  heard  that  song." 

"  You  have  ?  "  and  he  came  up  and  leaned  against  the 
piano  at  which  she  was  still  seated. 


190  GLOVERSON 

How  meek  we  can  be  when  we  imagine  we  are  ad- 
mired ! 

"  Miss  Clayton,"  he  began,  in  his  most  winning  tone, 
"  you  encourage  me  to  believe  what  I  have  often  thought : 
the  consistent  villain  is  to  be  found  only  in  plays  and 
novels.  There  is  some  good  in  every  one.  I  sometimes 
cannot  believe  that  I  myself  am  more  than  half  a  vil- 
lain." This  was  paragraphed  with  a  demure  smile.  "  A 
great  master,"  continued  Lang,  'k  has  said  something  to 
the  effect  that  the  workman  is  better  than  his  work.  '  If 
the  whole  is  greater  than  a  part '  —  I  think  that  is  the 
way  he  has  it  —  '  a  whole  man  must  be  greater  than  that 
part  of  him  which  is  found  in  a  book.'"  The  broker 
approached  nearer  to  her  side  :  "  Now,  my  dear  Amelia, 
you  have  liked  that  insignificant  part  of  me  which  is  my 
song.  Take  the  whole  :  it  has  long  been  yours." 

The  hand  of  Amelia,  toward  which  he  had  extended 
his,  fell  at  her  side. 

"  Mr.  Lang,  from  what  has  happened,  I  think  you  could 
have  -spared  me  this." 

"  I  suppose  I  can  not  appreciate  the  delicacy  of  such 
natures  as  yours  ;  but  I  could  not  think  you  mine  till  I 
had  heard  it  from  your  own  lips,  and,  dearest  Amelia,  I 
have  loved  you  so  that "  — 

"  Stop,  Mr.  Lang  !  You  do  not  love  me,  and  you 
know  it." 

"Shall  I  swear  it?" 

"  No,  sir.  A  woman  may  not  always  know  when  she 
loves,  but  she  always  knows  when  she  is  loved  —  but  this 
is  painful  to  me,  Mr.  Lang.  Let  us  never  speak  of  this 
again." 

Amelia  left  the  piano  and  again  took  the  chair  by  the 
window.  There  was  a  deep  flush  upon  her  face.  The 
broker  was  simply  angry. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  191 

"  It  is  not  painful  to  your  mother  !  " 

Amelia's  face  turned  deadly  pale.  "  Mr.  Lang,  this  is 
ungenerous  and  unmanly." 

George  seated  himself  on  the  sofa  at  the  side  nearer 
to  her.  After  a  pause,  in  which  he  had  been  able  to 
regain  only  part  of  his  presence  of  mind,  he  said  :  "  You 
are  right,  Amelia,  it  was  not  proper  to  use  your  mother's 
name  in  this  matter.  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  can  wait,"  he 
went  on,  drawing  a  long  breath,  "  and  I  am  sure  that  I  can 
convince  you  how  much  you  are  mistaken.  I  think  I  can 
appreciate  the  pride  you  feel  —  the  pride  which  hesitates 
to  give,  where  it  imagines  that  it  cannot  receive ;  but  then 
I  can  bear  the  waiting  better  if  I  only  hear  you  say,  in 
words,  that  you  love  me." 

Little  flecks  of  red  came  and  went  on  the  whiteness  of 
Amelia's  cheeks,  like  heat-lightning.  She  did  not  even 
look  at  him. 

"  Do  but  say  that  you  love  me,  my  dear,  dear  Miss 
Clayton.  Can  you  appreciate  my  impatience  ?  I  insist." 

Amelia  turned  her  eyes  upon  him.     "  You  insist  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  say  but  that,  and  I  will  wait." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Lang,  I  do  not  love  you !  " 

The  broker  was  thunderstruck.  It  had  been  only  in 
moments  of  vexation  that  the  possibility  of  her  having  a 
fancy  for  some  one  else  had  entered  his  mind.  These 
misgivings  had  never  dwelt  long  with  him  —  mere  mists 
they  were,  that  disappeared  before  the  full  sun  of  his 
own  conceit.  In  the  face  of  his  successes,  could  it  be 
possible  that  this  woman  dared  not  to  love  him  ? 

"  Ah  !  I  know  you.  You  love  some  one  else,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  That,  sir,  is  a  question  you  have  no  right  to  ask  me," 
and  Amelia  rose  to  her  feet. 

Lang  lost  all  self-control :     "  Oh !  I  tell  you  I  know 


192  GLOVERSON 

you.  It  was  first  that  dreamy  Dutchman,  who  is  dead, 
thank  God ;  and  now  it  is  that  reptile  Dixon,  who  soon 
may  be  —  And  you  reject  me  ?  " 

"I  do." 

"  Your  mother  doesn't." 

Amelia's  tall  figure  was  posed  majestically,  her  left 
hand  leaning  upon  the  back  of  the  chair  from  which  she 
had  just  risen,  while  her  right  arm  and  hand  rose  in  the 
natural  gesture  of  contempt :  "  Mr.  Lang,  leave  me ! 
This  is  cowardly  ;  this  is  outrageous.  Mr.  Dixon,  whom 
you  so  despise,  would  lose  his  right  arm  before  he  would 
do  any  thing  so  unmanly." 

His  hatred  toward  Amos,  increased  by  this  comparison 
and  added  to  the  previous  anger,  made  the  broker  fairly 
wild.  He  had  been  walking  quickly  backward  and  for- 
ward before  the  sofa  from  which  he  had  risen.  All  of  a 
sudden  he  stopped  in  front  of  the  young  lady,  and  darting 
a  fierce  look  into  her  blanched  face,  said,  with  clenched 
fist  and  set  teeth  :  — 

"  I  tell  you,  Amelia  Clayton,  you  shall  marry  me !  " 

"  Never ! " 

Lang  still  glared  at  her.  "  You  will  see  the  day  when 
you  will  be  glad  to  do  it." 

"  Never !  —  go  !  "  and  Amelia,  undaunted,  returned  his 
glare,  pointing  her  finger  grandly  toward  the  door.  Jn 
the  pallor  of  her  face,  now,  there  was  the  cold  transpar- 
ency of  marble.  "  I  told  you  I  would  be  stronger  next 
time.  Go,  sir." 

"  Stronger  ?  Yes,  when  you  are  at  my  feet.  I  have 
you  in  my  power.  And  as  for  that  Dixon  —  that  thick- 
headed favorite,  for  whom  you  think  you  can  reject  me, 
since  you  cannot  get  Karl  —  well,"  and  Lang  trembled 
with  rage,  "  I  will  put  you  where  even  your  Amos  will 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  193 

not  marry  you,  and  him  where  it  will  trouble  you  to  find 

him,  I  promise  you." 

"  Are  you  going,  Mr.  Lang,  or  shall  I  call  the  servant  ?  " 
The  black  pulsations  of  Lang's  eyes  were  terrible,  as 

he  turned  them  back  upon  her  from  the  door. 
The  next  moment  he  was  in  the  street. 

Amelia  felt  herself  growing  suddenly  faint.  Her 
strength  was  disappearing  with  her  foe.  She  had  pres- 
ence of  mind,  however,  to  hasten  to  her  own  room, 
where,  having  plunged  her  hands  and  face  into  cold 
water,  she  threw  herself  into  a  chair  by  the  open  win- 
dow. It  was  not  long  till  tears  came  —  tears,  that  God- 
sent  .cataclysm  which  is  repeating  itself  forever,  and 
which,  in  forty  minutes  or  forty  seconds,  can  sweep  away 
so  many  evils  from  the  world  of  women. 

Drying  her  eyes,  Amelia  still  sat  at  the  open  window, 
drinking  in  the  balm  of  the  evening.  The  whole  lawn 
was  fresher  from  the  morning  rain,  as  she  was  from  her 
tears. 

Two  little  birds  —  one  of  which,  probably,  it  was,  that 
had  sung  its  epithalamium  in  the  ears  of  Amos  —  had 
pitched  their  gipsy  tent  in  an  acacia  just  beneath  her 
window ;  and,  as  the  moon  grew  brighter,  Amelia  could 
occasionally  hear  their  dream-talk. 

At  that  moment,  the  threat  against  Amos  was  all  her 
mind  would  dwell  upon.  It  had  left  the  darkest  impres- 
sion of  all  the  foregoing  scene.  Lang  was  furious,  and 
might  do  Mr.  Dixon  some  injury  —  all  on  her  account. 
Would  she  ever  see  Mr.  Dixon  again  ?  How  should  she 
warn  him  of  the  danger  ?  Amelia  must  have  asked  these 
questions  of  the  sky,  for  her  eyes  were  looking  at  it  with 
a  vague  unrest. 

13 


194  GLOVERSON 

Then  she  would  turn  again  to  the  lawn,  where  she 
could  distinguish  the  scarlet  dahlias,  bending  over  and 
touching  the  pale  chrysanthemums  with  their  passionate 
lips,  like  Diana  bending  over  Endymion  sleeping  in  the 
moonlight.  Suddenly  she  would  think  of  Karl,  but 
there  was  a  kind  of  haze  about  him.  Sadness  always 
came  with  the  thought,  and  a  queer  sense  of  distance  ; 
while  the  idea  of  Amos  had,  linked  with  it,  as  queer  a 
sense  of  nearness.  When  she  thought  of  him,  —  and  she 
thought  of  him  more  than  of  Karl  to-night,  —  she  was 
thrilled  with  that  strange  feeling  which,  for  instance,  the 
sight  of  a  woman's  hand  will  sometimes  inspire  in  a  man. 
Amelia,  in  the  purity  of  her  mind,  thought  herself  at- 
tracted by  the  great  good  heart  of  Mr.  Dixon,  and  by 
pity  for  the  honest  sorrows  into  which  it  had  led  him. 

But  that  was  not  all.  It  was  something  in  the  moon- 
light —  the  kiss  of  Diana,  rejected  by  the  drowsy  shep- 
herd of  Latmos,  which  has  lingered  in  that  light  through 
the  aeons  —  something  in  it  twin  to  the  power  that  sways 
the  tides  of  the  ocean,  and  gives  gender  to  the  flowers 
and  the  grasses.  Amelia  was  attracted  by  the  mascu- 
lineness  of  Amos  —  that  undefined  complement  of  h:r 
being. 

And  that  is  why  she  turned  with  such  delight  to  the 
dream-talk  of  the  mated  birds,  and  watched,  with  so 
tender  an  interest,  the  elfin  somnambulism  of  the  flowers. 

At  that  moment,  Amos  Dixon  was  standing  alone  on 
Telegraph  Hill,  in  the  glamour  of  a  pleased  uncertainty, 
and  in  the  hazy  light  of  a  reflected  hope. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  195 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

KARL    SCHMERLING. 

ABOUT  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning,  two  gentlemen 
passed  each  other  on  a  pair  of  rickety  stairs,  which  led 
from  the  sidewalk  to  the  second  story  of  a  sombre- 
looking  house,  on  Kearny,  between  S utter  and  Post 
streets.  That  was,  of  course,  before  the  late  improve- 
ments. 

The  ground-floor  of  this  house  was  the  seat  of  that 
miscellaneous  shrine  of  housewives,  a  grocery  —  the  only 
substitute  the  gossips  of  America  have  for  the  public 
fountain  of  Europe.  The  sign,  above  the  door,  as  first 
executed,  read,  ANTON  ZIMMERMANN.*  Over  this  sur- 
name just  one  transparent  coat  of  white  paint  had  been 
plastered,  and  CARPENTER,  the  English  for  Zimmermann, 
had  been  painted.  The  ANTON  had  not  been  touched. 
To  change  that  into  Anthony  would  have  taken  more 
room  and  more  money.  So  it  now  read,  the  old  Anton 
and  the  new  Carpenter  ;  and  the  proprietor,  to  use  his  own 
words,  was  "  a  foos  trate  Amerikenn,  vat  voted  regular 
and  nefer  scratched  hees  teeket." 

Yet  this  thin  coat  of  paint  was  continually  letting  his 
past  into  his  present,  just  as  the  transparency  of  our  own 
pretensions,  dear  reader,  so  often  serves  us. 

The  two  gentlemen,  who  passed  each  other  on  the 
stairs,  bowed  stiffly.  The  one  who  was  descending,  saicf, 
between  his  teeth :  "  Morning,  Mr.  Dixon."  The  other 


196  GLOVERSON 

returned,  simply :  "  Mr.  Lang,"  and  ascended  to  the  door 
at  which  the  steps  terminated. 

The  broker  took  the  direction  of  his  office,  his  hatred 
toward  Amos  increased  at  least  tenfold.  "  That  fellow," 
thought  Lang,  "  has  been  sent  here  by  her,  on  the  same 
errand.  This  is  insult  to  injury.  He  will  fail  here,  as  I 
have  failed,  but  the  offense  is  all  the  same.  That  man 
is  my  evil  genius." 

The  door  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  stood  ajar,  and  a 
red  face  was  peering  out  of  it.  "  Potz  Tausend!"  was 
the  exclamation  which  greeted  Amos,  as  the  door  flew 
half-open,  and  the  form  of  a  woman  stood  on  the 
threshold.  Placing  her  brawny,  bare  arms  akimbo,  she 
contemplated  Mr.  Dixon  from  head  to  foot :  "  Vhen 
you  vants  to  see  my  man,  Mr.  Carpenter,  you  goes 
below." 

"  Madam,  I  merely  want  to  see  Mr.  Karl  Schmerling, 
who,  I  have  reason  to  believe,  is  in  this  house." 

"  Tat  is  youst  vat  dat  oder  feller  vanted.  I  don't  know 
'urn  !  " 

During  this  speech,  the  Frau  Carpenter,  formerly 
Zimmermann,  closed  the  door  and  stood  on  the  outside : 
"  You  youst  go  right  away.  I  youst  call  my  man,  Anton 
—  No  I  won't  neider  ! " 

Amos  noticed  a  change  of  color  in  the  woman's  face, 
at  the  close  of  this  last  pronunciamiento.  "  I  am  very 
sorry,  madam,  that  my  duty  causes  me  to  cross  you  so, 
but  I  am  sure  there  is  something  wrong  here." 

"  Den  you  dinks  I  lies,  do  I  ?  I  will  youst  haf  my 
charackter  inquired  of! " 

"  You  see  that  policeman,  on  that  corner  ?  " 

"  Ach  main  Gott !  a  boliceman  !  —  you  will  bring  a  bo- 
liceman  in  mein  house  ?  " 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  197 

At  this  instant,  Amos  rushed  wildly  by  her,  through 
the  door.  He  had  heard  the  same  familiar  violin,  and, 
following  the  sound,  he  came  into  the  front  room  just 
above  the  grocery.  He  could  neither  advance  nor  speak. 

Before  him,  propped  up  by  pillows  on  a  bed,  was  an 
emaciated  figure,  whose  pale  face  was  bent  fixedly  over 
the  instrument  Amos  had  heard.  The  sudden  opening 
of  the  door  had  not  been  noticed.  But,  as  Amos  was 
trying  to  regain  his  breath,  a  pair  of  languid  eyes  met 
his. 

Then  there  was  a  wild  shriek,  and  the  violin  fell  upon 
the  floor  and  broke. 

Dixon  rushed  forward  and  caught  the  figure  in  his 
arms.  "  O  Schmerling !  Schmerling,  what  can  this 
mean  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  How  came  you  here,  Karl  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  What  on  earth  has  happened  ?  " 

Still  no  answer.     Karl  Schmerling  was  senseless. 

The  Frau  Carpenter  had  followed  Amos,  in  speechless 
terror.  Her  man,  Anton,  attracted  by  the  shriek,  aban- 
doned his  grocery  to  an  ill-fed  younger  brother,  and, 
making  his  appearance  on  the  scene,  demanded,  in  a 
deep  guttural :  "  Was  ist  das  ?  " 

"  Ach !  Anton  ! "  groaned  his  spouse,  wringing  her 
hands.  "  Ach  !  der  Herr  Baron ! "  and  the  good  soul 
burst  into  tears. 

"Vat  you  do  here?"  blurted  out  Anton,  glaring 
fiercely  at  Amos,  who  was  sprinkling  water  upon  the  face 
of  Karl. 

"  He  has  killt  de  goot  bajon ! "  moaned  the  terror- 
stricken  woman. 


198  GLOVERSON 

"  Yes,  yes !  Dat  is  de  man  he  talks  about  ven  he  vas 
crazy  —  veil,  I  put  him  out,  any  vay  ! " 

Karl  was,  meantime,  passing  from  his  fainting-fit  into 
a  raging  fever.  Dixon  eased  him  tenderly  on  the  bed, 
and,  while  smoothing  the  pillows,  asked :  "  Has  he  had  a 
doctor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  answered  the  wife. 

«  Well,  go  for  him  quick !  " 

"I  go,  I  go!" 

"  Stop,  voman ! "  said  the  husband,  catching  her  by  the 
arm  and  detaining  her ;  then,  turning  to  Amos,  "  Is 
you  de  boss  of  my  vife,  say  ?  I  haf  keept  dis  man,  von 
Schmerling,  sick  a  bed  for  tree  months,  youst  because 
my  vife  once  lived  on  her  fader  mit  his  property ;  and 
youst  because  he  was  found  dead  one  night  very  late  in 
front  of  mine  house  !  Is  dat  right,  say  ?  " 

"  Ach !  "  sighed  Fran  Carpenter,  between  anxiety  for 
Karl,  and  fear  of  her  husband,  "  ach !  der  poor  goot 
Baron,  vat  safed  my  old  fader  from  prison,  and  let  him 
loose  a  whole  year's  rent  from  his  wineyard  in  Germany 
already ! " 

"  Yes,  vife,  der  Herr  von  Schmerling  may  be  a  goot 
man,  a  werry  goot  man  ;  but  he  has  no  money.  He  has 
not  paid  his  poard  !  " 

"  I  have  money,  sir,"  said  Amos.  "  Go  for  the  doctor, 
I  tell  you !  Will  you  let  a  fellow  creature  die  so  ?  " 

And  Amos  caught  up  a  towel,  and,  wetting  it,  bound 
it  about  the  hot  temples  of  Karl. 

"  O  Anton,  let  me  go,  let  me  go  !  " 

"  Stop,  voman  ! "  said  the  husband,  again  detaining 
her,  while  he  growled  at  Dixon,  "  yes,  I  dink  you  has 
money,  and  some  vas  is  not  youVs,  and  you  keeps  it,  too. 
You  ish  youst  de  man  dat  Mr.  von  Schmerling  didn't 
vant  to  see." 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  199 

Amos  approached  the  two  :  "  Here,  madam,  take  that, 
and  buy  as  much  ice  as  you  can  carry.  We  must  keep 
his  head  cool  till  the  doctor  comes.  If  you  make  haste, 
you  may  save  the  life  of  him  whom  I  understand  to  be 
your  old  master." 

"  Gif  me  clat  money,  vife !" 

"  Oh  !  certain :  he  was  de  best  master  —  I  go,  an't  it, 
Anton?" 

"  Yes,  go  —  run  !  He  dares  not  detain  you,"  inter- 
posed Amos,  as  he  threw  himself  between  the  -last 
speaker  and  her  husband,  and  looked  him  squarely  in  the 
eye.  u  Now,"  said  Dixon,  "  you  go  for  the  doctor  yourself. 
Do  you  hear  ? :' 

"  Ven  you  pays  rne  for  tree  months  poard  first." 

"  I  will  pay  you  for  everything." 

"  Right  avay  ! " 

"  You  thing  ! "  exclaimed  Amos,  raising  his  clenched 
fist.  "Will  you  go?" 

Brutes  in  human  shape,  are  generally  cowards.  An- 
ton elevated  his  thick  shoulders  and  sunk  his  blood-shot 
eyes,  as  he  growled  :  "  Veil,  I  was  going  all  de  time  ; " 
and  Amos  was  left  alone,  anxiously  watching  and  wait- 
ing, by  the  bed-side  of  Karl. 

It  was  not  long  till  Frau  Carpenter's  return  with  the 
ice ;  but  the  fear  of  Karl's  dying  before  the  doctor  could 
come,  had,  to  Dixon,  expanded  the  moments  into  hours. 
After  exhausting  his  invention  in  attempts  to  allay  the  fe- 
ver, he  had  had  time  to  accuse  himself  for  not  having  gone 
for  the  doctor,  and  to  puzzle  his  mind  inextricably  in 
trying  to  explain  and  reconcile  all  that  he  knew  about 
the  man  before  him. 

Quick  steps  were  heard,  at  last,  on  the  rickety  stairs, 
leading  from  the  street ;  and  the  contrasting  silence  of 


200  GLOVERSOX 

the  chamber  was  ghastly.  The  doctor  approached  the 
bed  with  noiseless  haste.  Then  the  silence  was  more 
ghastly  than  before. 

Amos  riveted  his  eyes  upon  the  physician's  face. 
Frau  Carpenter,  with  clasped  hands,  gazed  as  fixedly  at 
Karl.  That  was  the  woman  in  her  —  she  did  not  reason. 
Her  eyes  were  with  her  heart;  for  her  old  master  had 
excited  in  her  something  better  than  love,  and  nobler 
than  gratitude  —  something,  too,  thank  God,  that  dwells 
alike  in  charwomen  and  in  queens.  Karl  had  given  her 
a  chance  to  be  kind  to  him  disinterestedly. 

It  must  have  been  a  minute  before  this  silence  was 
broken  ;  but  it  was  one  of  those  awful  minutes  when 
the  man  of  medicine  —  the  prime  minister  of  Life  and 
Death  —  stands  in  the  ante-room  of  his  two  masters,  and 
yet  is  autocrat  there  with  the  wisest  of  us. 

Even  Anton  tried  to  breathe  more  softly. 

At  last  the  doctor  turned  deliberately  around  and  met 
the  steady  gaze  of  Amos.  Two  questions  passed  each 
other  midway  in  their  course,  from  each  pair  of  eyes. 
The  light  in  those  of  the  physician,  became  softer  first, 
and  he  said,  "  Your  name  cannot  be  Mr.  Lang  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  sir ! "  exclaimed  Dixon,  pointing  eagerly  at 
Karl,  "  but  tell  me  that  he  is  not  going  to  die." 

"  My  good  sir,"  said  the  doctor,  calmly,  "  I  cannot  tell 
you  that.  We  can  only  do  our  best,  and  hope  the  rest." 
And  he  turned  again  to  the  patient  and  busied  himself 
in  administering  anodynes. 

"  I  may  stay  with  him,  may  I  not,  doctor  ?  My  name 
is  Dixon,  not  Lang.  It  is  I,  you  know,  who  am  respon- 
.sible  for  your  bill,  and  for  everything.  You  will  grant 
me  this  favor  in  return  ?  No,  no,  I  did  not  mean  to  say 
anything  about  money,  or  to  hire  you ;  but  —  but  you 
will  let  me  remain ;  will  you  not  ?  " 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  201 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  not  mention  Lang's  name  here. 
That  man  has  done  the  patient  some  great  wrong.  I 
think  it  will  do  him  good  to  have  a  friend  by  him,  when 
he  comes  to  consciousness  again,  if," ' —  here  the  doctor 
paused  a  moment  —  u  if  he  ever  comes  to  consciousness 
again." 

Frau  Carpenter  had  disappeared  to  have  a  prescrip- 
tion filled  at  the  neighboring  apothecary's.  Anton  yet 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  in  awe  and  wonder  at 
the  scene. 

u  I  must  send  to  my  employer,"  said  Amos,  "  notifying 
him  that  I  will  not  be  at  business  to-day." 

"  I  go,  I  go  !  "  gasped  Anton. 

"  No,  no ;  you  go  down  to  your  grocery,  and  send  up 
the  boy  I  saw  there." 

Anton  obeyed  like  a  lamb ;  and  the  boy  took  a  mes- 
sage to  the  counting-house  of  Mr.  Gloverson. 

The  physician  now  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  side  of  that 
into  which  Dixon  had  patiently  seated  himself. 

"  Doctor,"  began  Amos,  "  I  do  not  know  exactly  why, 
but  I  see  that  you  are  a  good  man.  Now,  if  I  ask  any 
impertinent  question  you  must  stop  me.  Do  tell  me 
what  has  come  over  this  other  good  man,  Mr.  Schmer- 
ling." 

"•  You  are  complimentary,  sir.  It  is  his  mind  that  is 
sick,  sir.  Some  heavy  wrong  is  upon  it.  I  was  called 
up  late  one  night,  several  weeks  since,  and  found  the  pa- 
tient in  the  grocery  below,  in  a  paroxysm  of  brain  fever 
such  as  he  has  now.  Fainting,  he  had  fallen  against  the 
door,  and  so  aroused  the  inmates.  I  suppose  he  had  been 
wandering  unconscious  about  the  city  ever  since  one 
shock  of  his  troubles,  more  powerful  than  the  others,  had 
taken  from  him  the  complete  possession  of  his  senses. 


202  GLOVERSON 

I  ordered  him  to  be  carried  immediately  to  bed.  Mrs. 
Carpenter  had,  with  an  effort,  recognized  him  as  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  estate  upon  which  she  had  been  born  and 
bred  ;  and  was  only  too  glad  to  obey  me.  Anton  ob- 
jected on  the  score  of  pay,  seeing  that  he  found  nothing 
valuable  on  Mr.  Von  Schmerling's  person.  The  wife 
prevailed,  however,  on  representing  her  old  master  as 
very  rich,  and  as  certain  to  reward  them  all  liberally. 
Since  then,  in  his  placid  moments,  I  have  bgen  able  to 
learn  nothing  from  him  —  only  the  horror  he  has  of  hav- 
ing his  whereabouts  known  to  anybody.  In  pressing 
him.  one  time,  with  the  unreasonableness  of  his  conduct, 
I  well  nigh  plunged  him  again  into  a  paroxysm,  and  I 
have  since  abstained  wholly.  In  his  ravings,  he  has 
repeatedly  mentioned  a  Mr.  George  Lang  as  having 
betrayed  him,  but  so  indefinitely  that  I  could  make 
nothing  of  it.  In  his  wildest  moments,  ue  has  mentioned 
your  name  frequently  and  always  kindly.  It  is  for  that 
reason  I  consent  to  have  you  by  him.  His  malady  never 
had  so  good  a  subject.  Any  other  man  would  have 
died  or  recovered  long  ago.  So  transparent  is  his  na- 
ture, and  so  weak  his  frame,  that  the  least  excitement 
may  now  be  fatal  to  him.  Remember,  therefore,  that 
however  reasonably  he  talks,  you  are,  on  no  account,  to 
mention  the  name  of  George  Lang." 

As  the  Frau  Carpenter  returned,  Amos  reached  for- 
ward and  pressed  the  doctor's  hand.  They  seemed  to 
understand  each  other.  It  was  the  simple  freemasonry 
of  two  good  men. 

The  more  powerful  sedatives,  which  the  woman  had 
brought,  produced  a  marked  effect  for  the  better.  The 
physician  promised  to  come  again  in  the  afternoon,  and 
smiled  hopefully  as  he  retired. 


AND  HIS   SILENT   PARTNERS.  203 

Amos  now  prevailed  upon  Frau  Carpenter  to  go  to 
her  morning's  work,  and,  seated  anxiously  by  the  bed- 
sjde,  he  was  again  alone  with  Karl. 

To  many  young  men,  the  isolated  life  of  California  is 
an  exile  from  the  hearth.  It  is  their  misfortune,  rather 
than  their  fault,  that  they  have  never  seen  a  death-bed. 
The  sea  that  lashes  them  ceaselessly  against  the  living, 
drives  them  over,  and  swallows  up  the  broken  and  the 
dying. 

This,  in  truth,  was  a  new  scene  to  Amos.  A  vast  con- 
tinent had  spread  between  him  and  the  sick  room  of  his 
mother.  Nothing  of  the  reality  had  reached  him,  but 
the  one  great  grief  and  her  last  blessing  ;  and  these  had 
mellowed  his  whole  life. 

Amos  had,  as  has  been  said,  prescribed  ice  for  the 
hot  temples  of  the  patient,  but  this  was  dictated,  not  so 
much  by  experience,  as-  by  the  medicine  of  common 
sense.  He  was  now  aware  that  he  could  do  nothing  but 
watch  and  wait ;  and,  as  he  sat  and  gazed  at  the  changes 
on  the  transparent  face  of  Karl,  he  noted  the  fine  effects 
of  white  and  crimson,  and  might  have  thought  them 
beautiful,  if  he  had  not  connected  them  in  his  mind  with 
suffering.  It  seemed  that  this  face  had  gained  in  spirit- 
uality what  the  wasted  frame  had  lost  in  strength.  The 
wreck  of  some  treasure  ship,  cast  upon  a  bleak  lone  coast 
—  the  men  and  master  gone,  but  the  precious  freight- 
age left  —  this  was  the  one  picture  that,  out  of  the  still- 
ness and  strangeness,  kept  coming  and  going  in  the  fancy 
of  Amos. 

As  he  thought  this  thought,  and  still  gazed,  a  queer 
half  consciousness  came  over  him.  He  heard  nothing 
from  the  street  below,  and  nothing  of  Frau  Carpenter, 
busy  about  her  work  in  the  other  part  of  the  house. 


204  GLOVERSON 

There  are  places,  by  their  nature,  sacred  to  silence,  were 
Babel  all  around  them.  There  are  moments  when 
silence  appears  to .  be  something  positive,  and  defends 
its  own  borders.  There  are  moments,  too,  when  it  is 
detected  by  the  eye  rather  than  the  ear. 

Somehow,  Arnos  himself  seemed  alone  by  the  strand 
of  a  desert  sea.  By  and  by,  a  sound  arose,  as  if  in  very 
mercy  to  the  ear  —  a  sound  low  and  almost  regular ; 
near,  yet  far  away.  It  must  be  the  steady  beat  of  the 
waves  upon  the  shore :  for  again  the  same  picture  of 
the  stranded  treasure-ship  is  before  him  —  only  nearer 
and  the  more  oppressive  in  the  silence,  and  in  the  bleak- 
ness of  the  coast  and  the  utter  absence  of  the  living. 
The  regular  sound  grows  gradually  louder  and  harsher, 
and  Amos  becomes  suddenly  conscious  that  he  is  still 
alone  in  the  sick  chamber,  and  that  he  hears  only  the 
troubled  breathing  of  Karl. 

The  patient  seemed  more  uneasy,  and  began  muttering 
to  himself:  "  If  he  wanted  my  money  "  —  this  was  the 
first  intelligible  thing  that  Dixon  caught  from  the  lips 
of  Karl  —  "  if  he  wanted  my  money,  why  did  he  not 
ask  me  for  it.  It  was  not  the  money,  but  the  friend  1 
wanted." 

Karl  now  turned  perturbedly  on  his  pillow,  and  noth- 
ing but  the  harsh  breathing  was  heard.  The  doctor  had 
told  Amos  what  to  expect  when  the  fever  was  approach- 
ing its  height,  so  he  could  do  nothing  but  put  more  ice 
to  the  patient's  head,  and  still  watch,  and,  in  his  own 
despite,  listen. 

Karl  turned  again  on  his  pillow :  "  You  say  the  stock 
is  worthless,  and  Mr.  Lang  knew  it  all  the  time  ?  .  . 
Well,  have  I  not  waited  and  doubted  long,  .... 
so  long,  ....  long  ?  .  .  .  .  walking  con- 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  205 

stantly  in  the  shadow  of  my  own  presentiment.     .     .     . 

I  must  believe  it  then Not  the  testimony 

of  one  man,  but  of  many  against  the  confidence  of  years. 
.  .  .  Can  a  nature  change  ?  The  search  for  gold  had 
not  sullied  the  clear  streamlet  of  his  youth.  .  .  . 
The  whirlpool !  .  .  .  .  the  whirlpool !  — 

1  Und  es  wallet  und  siedet  und  brauset  und  zischt, 
Wie  wenn  Wasser  mit  Feuer  sich  mengt,'  * 

O  God,  0  God  !  I  cannot  see  him  !  .  .  .  .  Do  not 
let  him  in  !  I  must  not  see  him.  Has  shame  no  wall  to 
him  —  no  iron  to  bind  or  burn  ?  .  .  .  .  Let  him 
come,  then,  if  I  must  kill  him  !  Nemesis  and  Justice  are 
one.  .  .  .  No,  no,  Justice  is  blind.  I  must  kill  my- 
self, kill  myself.  It  was  my  too  easy  confidence  that 
tempted  him  to  betray  me.  The  temptation  was  the 
greater  crime.  .  .  .  Let  me  die  like  Cato.  Let  me 
do  it  quickly,  for  I  —  am  sinking  .  .  .  sinking  — 

*  Und  es  wallet  und  siedet  und'brauset  und  zischt, 
Wie  wenn  Wasser  mit  Feuer  sich  mengt, 
Bis  zum  Himmel  spritzet  der  dampfende  Gischt, 
Und  Flut  auf  Flut  sich  ohn'  Ende  drangt, 
Und  will  sich  nimmer  erschopfen  und  leeren 
Als  wollte  das  Meer  noch  ein  Meer  gebaren. '  "  2 

Here    Karl   pressed   his   hands    convulsively   to   his 

1  "  And  it  bubbles  and  seethes,  and  it  hisses  and  roars, 
As  when  fire  is  with  water  commix'd  and  contending." 

Bulwer's  Translation. 

2  "  And  it  bubbles  and  seethes,  and  it  hisses  and  roars, 
As  when  fire  is  with  water  commix'd  and  contending, 
And  the  spray  of  its  wrath  to  the  welkin  upsoars, 
And  flood  upon  flood  hurries  on,  never  ending; 
And  it  never  will  rest,  nor  from  travail  be  free, 
Like  a  sea  that  is  laboring  the  birth  of  a  sea."  —  Ibid. 


206  GLOVERSON 

temples.     After  a  short  pause,  he  turned  his  face  toward 
Amos,  and,  glaring  at  him,  continued  :  — 

"Kill  myself?  ....  No !  That  is  unchristian 
and  cowardly.  1  must  forgive  him.  .  .  .  Was  Plato 
a  coward  ?  .  .  .  .  Back,  devil  .  .  .  dock,  dock, 
I  will  forgive  him  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  and  I  must 
die,  die,  die,  — 

'  Und  es  wallet  und  siedet  und  brauset  und  zischt,' 

—  Louder  —  what  —  what  —  louder  —  what  ?  " 

Karl  stopped  suddenly ;  and,  sitting  stark  upright  in 
bed,  repeated  slowly,  in  his  own  language,  as  if  after 
spirits,  this  other  strophe  from  the  "  Diver  " :  — 

"  From  the  deep  then  I  call'd  upon  God  —  and  he  heard  me; 
In  the  dread  of  my  need,  He  vouchsafed  to  mine  eye 

A  rock  jutting  out  from  the  grave  that  interr'd  me; 
I  sprung  there,  I  clung  there  —  and  Death  pass'd  me  by." 

Then,  without  the  least  resistance,  he  allowed  his  head 
to  be  placed  on  the  pillow  again  ;  and,  with  a  smile  upon 
his  lips,  he  sank  into  a  quiet  slumber. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  207 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

4% 

OUT   OF   THE    SHADOW. 

AMOS  still  sat  by  the  bed-side,  silently  watching  the 
sleeper.  Frau  Carpenter  had  once  or  twice  glided 
through  the  room,  and  gone  back  to  her  duties,  each 
time  with  a  brighter  face.  Thus  an  hour  passed,  when 
Karl  awoke,  and,  casting  his  eyes  about  the  room  as  if  in 
search  of  something,  said :  "  Why,  Mr.  Dixon,  I  am  so 
glad  to  see  you ;  I  know  you  will  not  betray  my  where- 
abouts. I  cannot  tell  why,  but  I  felt  sure  you  were  by 
me.  How  did  you  get  here  ?  —  Oh  !  yes,  I  remember  ! 
I  just  saw  you  come  in.  You  will  excuse  me  if  I  was  so 
wrapped  up  hi  my  music  as  not  to  show  you  the  proper 
attention." 

Karl  sighed,  changing  his  position  slightly,  and  con- 
tinued: "I  sometimes  think  my  spirit  has  gone  to  the 
other  world,  leaving  only  its  shadow  in  this  ;  and,  some- 
times, the  spirit  seems  all  in  this  world  and  the  shadow 
in  the  next.  Lying  here  and  playing  fitfully  upon  my 
violin,  I  have  imagined  the  spirit  and  shadow  crossing 
each  other  -on  the  line  of  life,  continually ;  but  how  is 
Miss  Clayton  ?  " 

"  She  is  well  and  happy,  I  suppose,"  —  here  Amos 
drew  a  long  breath  and  dropped  his  eyes, —  "but  I  think 
we  would  better  not  speak  of  her  now." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Dixon  ?  " 


208  GLOVERSON 

"  There  are  several  reasons ;  one  of  which  is  that  the 
doctor  has  forbidden  you  to  talk  much." 

"  Is  she  —  has  she  —  has  she  —  forgotten  me  en- 
tirely ?  " 

"  She  speaks  of  you  often ;  but,  my  dear  Mr.  Schmer- 
ling,  believe  me,  this  is  not  now  a  proper  subject  for 
you." 

"  What,  she  not  a  proper  subject  ?  That  is  the  doctor's 
mistake.  Amelia  Clayton  is  a  theme  worthy  of  a  death- 
bed !  Such  as  she  would  reverse  the  old  legend  of  the 
Lurley  —  would  lure  us  mortals  back  to  life." 

"  I  assure  you,"  rejoined  Amos,  "  it  is  a  very  dear,  in 
fact,  the  dearest  subject  to  me,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
it  relieves  me  to  say  so  to  you ;  but  —  but  we  will  obey 
the  doctor  till  you  are  better." 

"  Better,"  repeated  Karl,  shaking  his  head.  "  I  don't 
know,  I  don't  know ;  I  have  out-lived  my  greatest  trust. 
I  have  already  dreamed  too  long.  If  I  had  loved  some 
pure  woman  as  I  have  one  man,  my  heart  would  not 
have  been  so  easily  dragged  from  its  anchorage.  I  should 
have  acted  more  and  trusted  less.  I  have  dreamed  too 
long." 

Amos  looked  into  Karl's  clear  face.  "  I  knew  it  was  not 
love  between  him  and  Amelia  ;  but  then  I  will  not  men- 
tion her."  This  was  the  unuttered  thought  with  which 
Amos  filled  up  the  slight  interval  before  Karl  spoke 
again :  — 

"  As  I  have  lain  here,  I  have  often  thought  how  much 
our  days  go  like  the  lapse  of  the  storied  river,  my  dear 
old  Rhine  —  though  to  some  they  go  rather  like  the 
Rhone,  rapid  at  Seyssel,  but  peaceful  at  Vaucluse. 
Creation  is  the  articulate  speech  of  God.  Men  are  his 
words  of  action  and  passion  —  his  verbs.  They  either 


AND  TIIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  209 

do  or  suffer.  Our  lives  flow  from  one  table-land,  whether 
by  the  quiet  meads  of  Languedoc,  or  the  wave- lashed 
crags  of  Drachenfels  and  Ehrenbreitstein  —  only  one 
mountain  peak  of  God's  will  to  divide  the  water-drops  of 
our  souls  from  a  Rhine,  or  Rhone  of  fate." 

A  moment  of  silence  intervened,  when  Karl,  having 
evidently  pursued  the  thought  to  himself,  exclaimed : 
"  The  hieroglyphics  of  the  stars !  —  the  hereafter  is  writ- 
ten beyond  and  back  of  them.  We  can  read  it  better  by 
the  light  of  faith  than  by  the  mists  of  philosophers.  So 
it  is  no  disparagement  that  our  destinies  are  like  drops 
of  water.  Are  they  not  as  flexible  as  a  moment  of  time, 
which  is  often  an  age  of  passion  ;  and  may  they  not 
compass  the  globe  —  nay,  the  universe  ?  The  breath  of 
God  can  expand  them  ;  and,  though  the  bubbles  are 
brief,  we  can  see  reflected  in  them  ourselves,  the  green 
earth,  the  dome  of  heaven,  and  the  rainbow  overarching 
all." 

Amos  could  only  look  and  listen.  He  thought  Karl 
grew  better  as  he  talked  ;  for  his  face  was  aglow  with  the 
thoughts  he  was  uttering,  and  with  that  happier  and 
diviner  trust  which  men  may  feel  but  never  utter. 

"  Why,  you  are  better  now,  Mr.  Schmerling,"  said 
Amos.  "  You  look  so  much  better." 

"  Then  we  can  speak  about  Miss  Clayton  ;  may  we 
not  ?  "  rejoined  Karl,  behind  a  look  of  pleading  inquiry. 

Amos  hesitated.  His  duty  was  now  uncertain ;  but 
his  heart  was  talking  Amelia  Clayton  all  the  time. 

"  You  have  said,"  Karl  proceeded,  "  that  it  is  a  dear 
subject  to  you  ;  and  the  sentiment  is  manly.  It  ennobles 
a  man  to  love  such  a  woman." 

"  God  bless  you,  Mr.  Schmerling  !  —  May  I  always  call 
you  Karl  hereafter  ?  " 
14 


210  GLOVERSON 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  fellow  ;  I  want  you  to." 

"  God  bless  you,  then,  under  any  name,  for  what  you 
have  said.  I  think  I  am  better  since  I  loved  her,  and  I 
have  loved  her  since  I  saw  her  first,  but  —  but  I  suffer 
more  than  I  ever  did  before." 

*"  Take  heart,  take  heart  if  she  has  raised  you  higher 
than  you  were.  The  storm  is  heaviest  on  the  mountain, 
but  the  sunshine  comes  there  the  earliest." 

All  of  Dixon's  hopefulness  against  hope  lived  again  in 
the  warmth  of  the  smile  with  which  Karl  had  uttered 
this  last  speech.  "  I  sometimes  think,"  said  Amos,  "  that 
everything  happens  for  the  best ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  see 
her  good  in  all  I  know." 

"  Come,  come,  never  despair.  Here  is  a  little  packet 
that  I  put  up  for  you,  in  the  holiday  time,  when  I  was  lying 
here  all  alone.  It  contains  something  for  you,  and  some- 
thing for  her  —  mere  remembrances,  indeed,  yet  you  two, 
with  these  kind  people  here,  are  my  only  heirs  —  even  in 
this  respect,"  added  Karl,  sighing.  "  Thus  —  for  Amelia 
must  esteem  you  if  she  really  knows  you  —  thus  without 
being  aware  of  your  affection  I  have  linked  you  in  my 
own.  There  may  be  fate  in  it.  At  least,  may  the  blessing 
that  I  give  with  them  be  worth  more  than  the  baubles. 
Here  "  (handing  the  packet)  "  I  wish  you  both  joy  ! " 

Amos  shook  his  head,  and,  taking  what  was  proffered 
him,  read,  with  a  shudder  :  "  For  Mr.  Dixon  ;  to  be  opened 
when  I  am  dead  !  " 

Amos  looked  from  the  packet  to  the  giver,  and,  recover- 
ing himself  slightly,  said  :  "  It  will  be  long  before  I  shall 
have  to  open  it,  Karl,  and  you  must  think  so,  too.  Will 
you?" 

Karl  smiled  again.  "  At  any  rate,  that  is  my  last  will 
and  testament,  and  my  blessing  on  you  and  Amelia  is  the 
codicil." 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  211 

"  I  fear,"  said  Amos,  shaking  his  head  again,  "  I  fear 
—  but  no  matter." 

"What  do  you  fear?" 

Amos  did  not  answer. 

"  Come,  what  do  you  fear  ?  " 

"  I  fear  —  in  fact,  I  am  sure  she  is  to  marry  another ! " 

«  What  other  ?  " 

"  Now,  we  must  change  the  subject." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh  !  we  must,  we  must" 

"  How  could  I  have  been  so  stupid !  "  exclaimed  Karl, 
flushing  instantly.  "  He  told  me  his  intentions  long  ago. 
It  is  the  man  whom  I  can  forgive  all,  but  marrying  her. 
I  will  warn  her,  though  I  meet  him  in  doing  it.  Ask  her 
to  come  here  immediately !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  to-morrow  you  shall  see  her.  Be  quiet 
now." 

"  No,  I  must  tell  her  this  very  day,  this  very  hour,  of 
your  goodness  and  his  villainy ;  and  warn  her  of  Lang  — 
Lang.  .  .  .  O  God  !  Quick,  if  you  love  her  —  if  you 
would  be  kind  to  me.  Bring  her  —  bt ing  her  quick.  She 
will  surely  come  —  for  I  am  sinking,  sinking  again  .  . 
sinking  .... 

'  Und  es  wallet  und  siedet  und  brauset  und  zischt ' 
Do   you   hear   the   whirlpool?     ....     But   where 

is  Amelia Bring  Amelia I  do 

not  see  Amelia !     Amelia !     .     .     .     .     Amelia ! " 

Amos  called  Frau  Carpenter  into  the  room ;  hurried 
down  into  the  grocery  ;  sent  Anton  for  the  doctor ;  and, 
stopping  the  first  empty  carriage  passing  in  the  street,  he 
threw  himself  into  it,  ordering  the  driver  to  take  him  in 
all  haste  to  Mrs.  Clayton's  on  Folsom  Street. 

The  thoughts  that  passed  in  Dixon's  mind  during  this 


212  GLOVERSON 

ride  were  many  and  various,  resulting  all  in  a  complex 
sensation  of  pleasure.  He  did  not  think  of  forwarding 
his  own  suit,  or  ruining  that  of  his  rival  by  the  revela- 
tions Karl  had  unconsciously  made  to  him,  or  by  those 
Karl  was  likely  to  make  to  Amelia.  He  believed  that 
his  friend  must  see  her,  or  die  in  the  paroxysm  caused 
by  the  ungratified  desire  to  see  her.  Nothing  else  would 
have  taken  him  to  the  house  whence,  the  very  night  be- 
fore, he  believed  he  had  been  dismissed  —  dismissed, 
though,  in  the  kindness  with  which  she  did  everything. 
Her  duty  was  with  another,  and  she  had  simply  notified 
him,  in  some  way  he  could  not  remember,  through  the 
shock  it  gave.  The  manner  had  been  like  herself:  it 
was  the  fact  that  had  crushed  him.  Between  her  duty, 
which  sent  him  away,  and  his  duty  to  Karl,  which  brought 
him  back,  a  hope  had  sprung  up  that  he  did  not  analyze, 
because  he  knew  nothing  how  or  whence  it  came.  So, 
Amos  felt  a  pleasant  thrill  as  he  approached  the  elegant 
house  again. 

Amelia's  rejection  of  Lang  had  already  reached  her 
mother  through  an  angry  note,  in  which  the  broker  so- 
licited a  private  interview  with  Mrs.  Clayton  at  a  later 
hour.  The  anger  of  this  note  had  communicated  itself, 
on  the  principle  of  accelerated  motion,  first  to  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton, then  to  Miss  Garr,  and  then,  with  all  its  accumulated 
violence,  it  had  been  hurled  against  the  devoted  head  of 
Amelia. 

The  irate  feeling  of  Miss  Sophia  was  something 
astonishing,  even  to  Mrs.  Clayton.  It  seemed,  indeed,  to 
partake  of  the  nature  of  a  bomb-shell ;  for  it  exploded 
in  all  directions,  including  that  of  Mr.  Lang  himself. 
She  shook  her  indignant  fist,  and  threatened  to  let  that 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  213 

gentleman  know  what  he  was  about,  and  how  he  could 
trifle  with  girlish  confidence,  etc.,  etc.  Mrs.  Clayton  did 
not  exactly  see  where  Mr.  Lang  was  at  fault,  but  was 
sure  that  Miss  Garr's  sentiments  were  prompted  by 
pure  friendship. 

So  they  were  ;  only  Mrs.  Clayton  was  somewhat  mis- 
taken as  to  the  object.  The  pure  friendship  was  for 
Miss  Sophia,  herself,  and  not  for  her  old  friend  from  the 
State  of  Maine. 

A  slur  against  that  favored  Dixon  had  also  been  con- 
veyed, per  note,  from  Mr.  Lang  to  Mrs.  Clayton,  from 
Mrs.  Clayton  to  Miss  Garr,  and  from  Mrs.  Clayton  and 
Miss  Garr  jointly,  and  with  gigantic  addenda,  to  Amelia, 
who  had  finally  retired  to  her  own  room.  The  two  other 
ladies,  though  greatly  chagrined  by  this  movement,  did 
not  desert  the  parlor,  or  their  theme.  In  fact,  Miss  Garr 
had  just  finished  a  long  tirade  to  Mrs.  Clayton,  on  the 
fiendish  deceit  of  that  Dixon,  practised  on  her  own  feel- 
ings, and  on  his  evident  fiendish  designs  upon  her 
daughter  Amelia,  when  the  servant  announced  MR. 
DIXON,  in  person. 

The  faces  of  the  two  ladies  looked  very  much  like  those 
in- the  candle-light  pictures  of  the  old  Flemish  artists. 

"  The  devil ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Sophia,  stopping  short ; 
then,  seeing  that  her  allusion  to  her  patron  saint  had 
produced  a  bad  impression  upon  Mrs.  Clayton,  continued 
in  a  flash:  "The  devil  —  is  always  about  when  you  are 
talking  of  him." 

This  was  not  very  skillful,  but  it  quieted  Mrs.  Clayton's 
conscientious  scruples  about  profane  language,  and  en- 
abled her  to  resign  the  full  force  of  her  mind  to  her  anger, 
and  to  her  hatred  for  Amos. 

Who  now  entered  the  parlor  hurriedly,  and  iu 


214  GLOVERSON 

manifest  agitation.  "  Good  afternoon,  ladies,"  said  he ; 
"  is  Miss  Clayton  in  ?  " 

"  Humph  ?  "  remarked  Miss  Sophia,  with  a  tone  and 
manner  which  are  best  conveyed  by  an  interrogation 
point  —  which  figurative  interrogation  point  that  esti- 
mable lady  continued  with  her  eyes,  placing  it  alter- 
nately at  the  head  and  at  the  feet  of  Mr.  Dixon. 

"  My  daughter  is  in,"  observed  Mrs.  Clayton,  stiffly. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Miss  Clayton,  if  you  please," 
faltered  Amos,  vainly  attempting  to  appear  at  his  ease. 

"  Miss  Clayton  should  not  like  to  see  you,  Mr.  Dixon," 
replied  the  mother,  in  a  spiteful  falsetto,  as  she  looked 
for  encouragement  to  Miss  Garr. 

"  To  make  a  long  matter  short,  sir,"  now  volunteered 
the  lady  appealed  to,  "  to  make  a  long  matter  short,"  and 
Miss  Garr  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  which,  to 
tell  the  truth,  was  not  very  imposing,  "  Miss  Clayton  re- 
fuses to  see  you,  sir  !  " 

"  But  I  must  see  her  —  it  is  "  — 

"  Do  you  hear  this  impudence,  Sophia,  and  in  my  own 
house  ?  '  Must  see  her '  —  I  say  you  must  not  and  shall 
not  see  her,  and  you  must  leave  this  house,  and  never 
enter  it  again.  There,  now  !  "  Mrs.  Clayton  ended  with 
the  battery  of  her  eyes  turned  triumphantly  upon  Sophia, 
whose  appreciative  approval  was  sent  back  by  a  similar 
pair  of  hard,  sharp  instruments. 

"  It  is  a  case  of  life  and  death,  I  wanted  to  say,  when 
you  interrupted  me." 

"  Life  and  death ! "  ejaculated  the  faithful  Sophia ; 
"  what  is  your  life  or  death  to  us,  or,  especially,  to  her. 
She  will  not  see  you,  so  you  better  go  and  die ! " 

Amos  did  not  know  how  much  he  had  hoped,  till  he 
found  he  had  hoped  in  vain.  His  head  began  to  reel. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  215 

Still  he  persisted  in  saying:  "If  I  can  see  her,  I  can 
save  a  life.  Let  me  see  her  —  for  God's  sake,  let  me  see 
her ! " 

"  The  man  is  crazy,  Sophia,  I  will  have  him  put  out." 

Amos  felt  his  pride  rising,  and  his  head  growing 
steadier. 

"  Miss  Clayton,  then,  has  refused  to  see  me  under  any 
circumstances  ?  " 

«  Yes,  and  —  " 

"  That  is  enough.  I  did  not  come  here  again  on  my 
own  account,  but  to  save  another's  life.  I  have  done  all 
that  I  can,  without  betraying  a  secret  which  is  not  mine. 
You,  her  mother,  never  rebuffed  me  here  before.  It 
must  be  by  her  desire,  and "  —  his  voice  falling  almost 
to  a  whisper  —  "  and  she  will  never  have  to  repeat  it !  " 

Amos  hurried  to  the  door,  where  he  suddenly  paused. 
"  The  end  must  justify  the  means,"  he  said  desperately. 
"  She  may  despise  me  on  my  own  errand  ;  she  shall  not 
on  his.  I  may  have  been  presumptuous  to  her,  and  false 
to  myself,  but  I"  must  not  be  false  to  him  —  when,"  he 
added  falteringly,  "  when  nothing  but  my  own  happiness 
stands  in  the  way." 

The  two  ladies  -heard  these  unintelligible  words  in 
mute  astonishment.  They  stood  in  the  hall  blankly 
staring  to  each  other,  as  Amos  walked  briskly  past  them, 
knocking  at  every  door  and  calling  loudly  for  Miss 
Clayton.  Thus  he  went  through  the  lower  part  of  the 
house,  astonishing  the  cook  by  the  manner  in  which 
he  opened  the  door,  when  he  received  no  answer. 
The  cook,  however,  consoled  herself  by  the  remark  that 
she  "  always  thought  so."  She,  having  failed  to  make 
any  impression  on  the  coachman,  believed  that  he  had 
been  caught  in  some  theft,  and  that  Mr.  Dixon  was 
searching  the  premises  for  the  missing  goods. 


216  GLOVERSON 

As  Amos,  retracing  his  steps,  started  up  stairs,  Mrs. 
Clayton  shrieked  and  'fainted.  Miss  Garr  stood  for 
awhile  riveted  to  the  floor.  Amos  meantime  could  be 
heard  aloft,  knocking,  calling  for  Miss  Clayton,  and 
opening  doors.  Finally,  Sophia  began  to  shriek,  too, — 
but  for  the  coachman.  Miss  Garr  was  evidently  more 
anxious  to  have  Dixon  put  out,  than  to  bring  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton to  from  her  fainting  fit. 

While  Sophia  was  rummaging  the  coach-house  and  the 
back  yard  for  the  coachman,  Amos  had  come  down 
stairs,  exclaiming,  as  he  rushed  into  the  street,  "  She 
has  run  away  from  me  —  she  has  run  away  from  me  !  " 

When  Miss  Garr  returned,  and  found  Dixon  had  dis- 
appeared in  the  carriage  that  had  been  waiting  for  him, 
she  ordered  the  dilatory  coachman  to  carry  Mrs.  Clayton 
to  a  sofa  in  the  parlor,  and  left  the  waiting  maid  to  re- 
vive her  mistress.  Miss  Garr  went  to  find  Amelia,  and 
what  was  Miss  Garr's  surprise  to  discover  that  Amelia 
was  gone  !  "  He  has  carried  her  off — he  has  carried  her 
off! "  were  the  soothing  words  with  which  she  burst  into 
the  presence  of  Mrs.  Clayton,  who  was  just  recovering, 
and  who  thereupon  went  off  again  with  a  scream. 

Not  long  after,  Amelia  returned  by  the  basement  door, 
through  which  she  had  gone  forth  on  a  little  afternoon 
call  at  a  neighbor's  ;  Sophia,  hearing  Miss  Clayton  in  the 
hall,  rushed  at  her  madly  and  kissed  her,  with  convul- 
sive energy,  on  the  nose,  and  the  hair,  and  the  ears,  and 
once  or  twice,  as  it  were  by  mistake,  on  the  cheeks. 
Then,  without  a  word  of  explanation,  Miss  Garr  dragged 
her  former  pupil  into  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Clayton,  who 
was  at  that  instant  again  recovering,  and  who,  at  the 
sight  of  her  daughter's  alarmed  face,  and  somewhat  dis- 
arranged toilet,  went  off  this  time  in  violent  hysterics. 


AND   HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  217 

Amelia,  believing  some  sudden  illness  to  have  over- 
taken her  mother,  addressee^  herself  tenderly  to  restoring 
her ;  and  would  have  sent  for  the  doctor,  if  not  stopped 
by  Sophia.  "  It  is  all  5n  your  own  account,"  said  that 
lady,  "  all  on  your  own  account,  you  ungrateful  girl ! " 

"  On  my  account  ?     Why  "  — 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Clayton's  curiosity  got  partially, 
at  leasty  the  better  of  her  ailment,  and  she  demanded  — 

"  How  did  you  —  how  d'you  get  (sob)  —  how  did  you 
get  away  from  him  ?  " 

"  Away  from  whom  ?  " 

«  Why,  (sob)  that  (sob)  brute,  Dixon  ! " 

"  Mother,  you  must  be  quite  ill !  I  do  not  know  what 
you  mean  —  but  I  am  so  weary  of  hearing  that  gentle- 
man abused." 

"  Gentleman !  "  exclaimed  the  Garr,  in  virtuous  horror. 

"  Gen-(sob)  gen-en-tle-man  !  "  repeated  the  hysterical 
Mrs.  C. 

"  Yes,  gentleman  ;  and  pray  do  not  mention  his  name 
again,  unless  you  can  mention  it  respectfully/' 

"  Oh,  what  will  become  of  me  ! "  almost  shrieked  Mrs. 
Clayton.  "  Do  you  see  how  flushed  her  cheek  is  ?  It 
is  the  only  part  of  the  Clayton  in  the  ingrate.  That,  at 
least,  has  some  shame  in  it !  " 

"  Mother,  pray  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  matter,  after  having  been  carried  away 
by  that  Dixon!"  volunteered  Sophia.  "Then  to  .ask 
what  is  the  matter  with  your  afflicted  parent !  " 

"  Miss  Garr,  I  have  had  enough  of  your  interference 
in  my  affairs,  and  you  will  oblige  me  by  mixing  in  them 
no  more.  Hypocrisy  and  deceit,  even  in  their  sheerest 
weakness,  sometimes  cease  to  be  ridiculous.  You  have 
passed  your  limit,  and  I  will  bear  no  more  from  you  "  — 


218  GLOVERSON 

turning  her  back  upon  the  astonished  Sophia ;  "  I  am 
talking  to  my  mother  now.  Mother,  you  will  please  tell 
me  what  all  this  is  about." 

"  Hear  her,  (sob)  hear  her !  *After  (sob)  insulting  her 
parent's  old  friend,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  and  her  own  affectionate 
teacher,  (sob,  sob)  and  going  off  with  that,  ah !  horrid, 
horrid  —  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha !  " 

"  I  tell  you,  mother,  once  for  all,  I  have  not  seen  Mr. 
Dixon  to-day." 

"  What  is  this  coming  to  ?  —  and  she  even  denies  it  to 
our  faces !  What  is  this  coming  to,  Sophia  ?  Ah  !'ha,  ha, 
ha !  Have  them  take  me  to  my  room,  instantly  !  " 

And  the  coachman  and  the  waiting-maid  bore  her 
away  in  their  arms. 

Amelia  had  not  seen  Amos,  though  she  had  met  the 
carriage,  into  a  corner  of  which  he  had  thrust  himself,  on 
hurrying  into  the  street.  They  had  passed  each  other 
unconsciously.  Amelia  was  thinking,  as  she  walked 
homewards,  how  she  could  best  do  her  duty  to  her 
mother,  and  to  herself,  bearing  and  forbearing.  Amos 
was  scarce  thinking  at  all,  so  completely  was  he  over- 
come by  what  he  considered  the  twofold  consequences 
of  his  failure.  Had  he  left  anything  undone  ?  He  could 
not  believe  that  he  had. 

After  a  little  time,  he  recovered  enough  to  remember 
that  he  really  had  had  no  foundation  for  his  late  hopeful- 
ness, but  the  impression  that  had  come  to  him  in  the 
moonlight.  Nothing  in  fact  stood  between  him  and  the 
bewilderment  of  the  first  shock,  which  was  increased  now 
by  the  absence  of  Amelia's  kindly  manner.  Then  the 
horror  of  what  he  had  just  done  —  rudely  searching  her 
house,  when  she  had  refused  to  see  him.  How  would 
she  ever  forgive  this  ?  Then  Karl  —  but  here  he  be- 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  219 

came  more  confused,  and  repeated  thf  Kearny  Street 
address  to  the  driver  many  times,  and  prayed  him  to 
make  haste,  though  the  horses  were  doing  their  ut- 
most. 

Finally,  having  discharged  the  carriage,  Amos  stum- 
bled up  the  rickety  stairs  leading  to  the  apartments 
above  the  grocery.  Unannounced,  he  entered  the  room 
he  had  left  but  a  half  hour  before.  He  seated  himself 
listlessly  by  the  bedside  of  Karl,  staring  straight  ahead 
of  him.  He  saw  the  doctor  and  Frau  Carpenter  moving 
noiselessly  about,  but  he  did  not  heed  them.  By  and  by, 
he  neither  saw  nor  heard  them.  Silence  again  asserted 
its  weird  power  in  the  midst  of  low  whispers  and  muffled 
footfalls.  Once  more,  out  of  the  stillness  and  strange- 
ness, the  picture  of  the  wrecked  treasure-ship  gradually 
rose  before  him.  The  shore  was  more  bleak  and  deso- 
late than  ever ;  no  vestige  of  a  living  being ;  no  sound 
of  the  waves  upon  the  beach  —  yet  slowly  the  ship,  as  he 
gazes,  breaks  to  pieces,  and  he  sees  the  priceless  things 
glitter,  as,  one  after  the  other,  they  disappear  in  the  sea, 
and  a  long  track  of  mysterious  light  passes  over  and 
lingers  about  the  place  where  all  has  been  swallowed 
up. 

Amos  suddenly  rousing  himself,  discovers  that  a  ray 
of  the  afternoon  sun  has  stolen  through  a  small  opening 
in  the  blinds,  directly  across  the  room  ;  and  there,  inter- 
cepted by  the  curtains,  has  paused  in  a  halo  about  the 
head  of  Karl. 

"  Well,  doctor  ?  " 

^he  physician  turned  his  eyes  upon  Amos,  but  did  not 
speak. 

"  Well,  doctor,  how  is  Mr.  Schmerling  ?  " 


220  GLOVERSON 

There  was  a  questioning  look  in  the  eyes  of  the  good 
physician  now  ;  but  still  he  did  not  answer. 

"  I  forgot,  I  must  always  call  him  Karl.  Then,  doc- 
tor, how  is  Karl  ?  " 

This  time  the  physician  answered  :  — 

«  Karl  is  dead  ! " 


AND   HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  221 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MISS    SOPHIA  GARR  ENGAGES  IN  THE  STUDY  OF  THE  LAW. 

AMOS  DIXON  had  not  been  long  gone  from  the  elegant 
house,  when  Miss  Sophia  Garr,  caparisoned  in  a  jaunty 
hat  and  a  ready-made  cloak,  sallied  forth,  on  a  little 
business  of  her  own. 

She  took  the  nearest  way  to  Montgomery  Street,  and 
proceeded  almost  to  the  head  of  that  thoroughfare. 
Ascending  a  very  wide  flight  of  steps,  she  turned  to  the 
right,  and  went  up  a  narrower  flight ;  turning  again  to 
the  left,  she  went  up  a  narrower  flight  still.  Without 
pausing  to  take  breath,  Miss  Sophia  proceeded,  by  the 
help  of  the  sky-light,  to  read  the  names  on  a  whole  army 
of  doors.  Making  nearly  the  whole  circuit  of  the  long 
hall,  she  arrived  finally  at  a  door  which  seemed  to  meet 
with  her  approval,  for  she  nodded  her  head,  knocked,  and 
walked  briskly  in. 

"  What  a  horrid  looking  man  !  "  she  said,  as  she  threw 
herself  upon  a  well-worn  lounge,  and  breathed  heavily. 

"  What  an  ugly  old  vixen ! "  replied  the  gentleman 
thus  apostrophized,  looking  up  from  the  desk  at  which 
he  sat  writing. 

"  Hem ! "  rejoined  Miss  Sophia,  eying  him  wickedly, 
and  still  laboring  for  her  breath,  after  her  unwonted 
exertion. 

"Well,  madam?" 


222  GLOVERSON 

"How  dare  you,  sir  —  but  this  is  Mr.  Beanson,  no 
doubt  ?  " 

"Yes,  madam." 

"I  called,  sir,"  pronounced  Miss  Garr,  in  an  angry 
tone,  "  to  have  you  explain  to  me  explicitly,  and  without 
reservation,  what  constitutes  a  breach  of  promise." 

Now  two  different  persons  had  been  harassing  Mr. 
Beanson,  that  very  morning,  with  unpaid  bills.  Yet  it 
was  a  characteristic  of  this  remarkable  man  that  all  his 
greatest  troubles  were  in  the  future  —  that  undiscovered 
country  of  his  first  brief,  and  the  presidency.  He  was 
possessed  of  a  wonderful  talent  at  apprehending  evil ; 
and  he  had  not  heard  Miss  Sophia  this  long,  without  ex- 
erting it.  He  thought  instantly  of  the  snares  laid  for 
unsuspecting  young  men  by  designing  females,  and  did 
not  grow  calmer  as  his  visitor  repeated :  — 

"  Come,  sir ;  you  profess  to  be  a  lawyer,  if  you  are  not. 
Can  you  tell  me,  sir  ?  " 

"  M-madam,  I  don't  know  you  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bean- 
son,  feeling  very  much  confused,  but  looking,  as  he 
always  did,  very  aggressive. 

"  I  found  your  card  in  my  card-case,  and  I  want  to 
know,  sir,  what  constitutes  a  breach  of  promise." 

"  Madam,  I  tell  you  I  don't  know  you  at  all!  " 

"  But  did  you  not  leave  your  card  in  my  card-case  at 
Mrs.  Clayton's?" 

"  I  did,  madam,  but  that  does  not  constitute  a  breach 
of  promise ;  and  I  warn  you  now,"  said  Mr.  Beanson, 
raising  his  voice  and  his  forefinger,  and  shaking  both  at 
her  simultaneously,  "I  warn  you  now,  madam,  that  you 
cannot  ground  an  action  for  breach  of  promise  on  a 
little  skillful  advertising  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  " 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  223 

Mr.  Beanson  observed  a  sudden  and  marked  change 
coming  over  the  features  of  his  visitor,  and  took  it  for 
the  herald  of  her  discomfiture  and  his  own  triumph. 
"  What  do  I  mean  ?  "  iterated  Mr.  Beanson.  "  I  mean, 
madam,  that  in  this  latter  stage  of  juridical  enlighten- 
ment, a  man  cannot  be  held  for  breach  of  promise,  or 
prosecuted  for  breach  of  promise,  by  a  woman  whom  he 
never  saw  before  in  his  life  —  and,  for  that  matter,  never 
wishes  to  see  again — just  because  he  put  his  business 
card  in  her  card-case."  Here  the  speaker,  seeing  the 
remarkable  effect  of  his  philippic,  launched  himself  upon 
his  feet,  the  better  to  enjoy  the  ovation  he  was  preparing 
for  himself.  As  he  undoubled  his  exceeding  length  be- 
fore Sophia,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  addi- 
tional effect  he  was  producing,  even  apart  from  his  ora- 
tory. It  was  the  very  yellow  jaundice  of  tones,  in  which 
Mr.  Beanson  concluded :  — 

"  No,  madam,  you  would  not  get  any  intelligent  court  in 
the  land,  in  these  premises,  to  find  cause  of  action.  It 
was  nothing  but  a  skillful  advertisement  —  in  short,  an 
act  of  commercial  and  legal  genius.  You,  I  suppose, 
would  make  it  a  crime  punishable  by  marriage  with  such 
as  you.  The  thing  is  simply  ridiculous  !  Madam,  I  have 
done.  Have  you?" 

Mr.  Beanson  resumed  his  seat  triumphantly,  and  eyed 
the  astonished  Garr  with  an  expression  that  made  his 
head  look  older  than  common. 

Miss  Sophia  could  not  have  interrupted  the  foregoing 
forensic  display,  if  she  had  tried.  In  her  bewilderment, 
she  was  mutely  deciding  whether  she,  Sophia  Garr,  or  all 
the  m*en  were  going  stark  mad.  George  Lang  had 
offered  himself  to  Amelia,  after  being  accepted  by  her- 
self. From  the  way  that  Dixon  had  just  acted  in  Mrs. 


224  GLOVERSON 

Clayton's  parlor,  there  was  very  little  doubt  of  his  utter 
lunacy.  Then,  this  impudent  red-haired  wretch  —  whom 
she  had  never  attempted  to  marry  —  either  he  or  she 
was  certainly  crazy.  The  question  was  too  complicated 
for  a  prompt  decision. 

The  two  had  sat  for  some  moments,  glaring  at  each 
other,  in  profound  silence,  when  Miss  Garr  suddenly  ex- 
claimed :  "  You  long-waisted  vagabond,  shut  up  ! " 

This  might  have  been  effectual  in  a  contest  with  a 
person  of  her  own  sex  ;  since  it  might  have  shocked  into 
silence  or  proved  an  Ultima  Thide  of  feminine  virulence. 
When,  however,  Mr.  Beanson,  having  taken  some  time  to 
consider,  remembered  that  he  was  not  talking  at  all 
when  he  was  requested  to  "  shut  up,"  the  thing  struck 
him  as  laughable.  Accordingly  Mr.  Beanson  laughed  — 
laughed  loud  and  long ;  till  Mr.  Beanson  had  laughed 
out  all  the  fun  there  was  in  the  occurrence,  and  some  of 
his  own  anger,  to  boot. 

"  Now,  madam,"  said  he,  facetiously,  "  I  am  prepared 
to  part  with  you." 

Miss  Garr  was  more  angry  than  ever. 

"  I  say,  madam,  I  am  prepared  to  part  with  you ;  I  will 
not  detain  you  further." 

"  You  ugly,  hateful,  impudent  wretch  !  "*  remarked  So- 
phia, finding  speech  at  last.  "  You  may  insult  me  here 
as  much  as  you  please,  since  I  am  without  a  protector, 
but  you  shall  not  drive  me  away,  till  you  have  answered 
my  question.  I  would  as  soon  marry  a  keg  of  nails  as 
you,  sir  ;  so  you  may  set  your  mind  at  rest !  It  is  some- 
body else  that  my  outraged  feelings  are  interested  in  — 
somebody  else  of  more  consequence  than  you,  though  I 
verily  believe  he  is  as  big  a  villain  "  — 

"  Oh  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Beanson,  as  any  other  drowning 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  225 

man  might  have  done,  before  he  was  swallowed  up  by 
any  other  flood. 

"  Do  you  suppose,  sir,  I  would  walk  all  the  way 
here  from  Folsom  Street,  and  up  these  interminable 
stairs,  and  then  go  away,  without  knowing  what  consti- 
tutes a  breach  of  promise  ?  I  would  have  you  know,  sir, 
that  my  case  is  urgent." 

"  Then  you  did  not  intend  to  prosecute  me  at  all  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Beanson,  opening  his  eyes  very  wide. 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  once  ?  Would  I  prosecute  a  keg 
of  nails,  you  ninny  ?  " 

As  strange  as  it  may  seem,  a  bland  smile,  which  spread 
over  the  entire  face  of  Mr.  Beanson,  was  the  result  of 
this  last  poisoned  arrow  of  Miss  Garr.  The  ignis  fatuus 
of  his  first  brief  was  again  rising  over  the  marshes  of 
his  present  embarrassments.  "  Well,  well,  madam,"  re- 
joined Mr.  Beanson,  "  I  will  do  anything  in  the  world  to 
serve  you.  Who  is  it,  by  the  way,  that  you  wish  to 
prosecute  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  as  that  is  any  of  your  business  at  pres- 
ent, sir ;  I  first  want  an  answer  to  the  question  I  have 
asked  about  forty  times  :  What  constitutes  a  breach  of 
promise  ?  " 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  madam,  there  are  so  many  condi- 
tions to  a  breach  of  promise  that  an  abstract  definition 
of  it  would  not  do  the  least  good  in  the  world ;  and  I 
could  not  give  you  one,  without  consulting  my  books  — 
but  do  you  absolutely  insist  upon  mentioning  no  names  ?  " 

"  I  do,  sir." 

"  Will  you  state  the  case,  then,  without  names  ?  " 

"  You  must  see,  sir,  that  my  natural  delicacy  revolts 
against  any  revelation  to  strangers." 

"  Why,  madam,  counsellor  and  client  should  never  be 

15 


226  GLOVERSON 

strangers.  Besides,  you  must  be  aware  that  a  breach  of 
promise  depends  on  so  many  things  —  as  I  have  said  be- 
fore, there  are  so  many  conditions  that  we  can  not  pro- 
ceed at  all  unless  you  answer  certain  questions  ;  such  as, 
for  instance,  whether  you  —  I  mean  the  lady,  the  plain- 
tiff, in  fact,  has  any  proof  of  a  promise,  express  or  im- 
plied." 

Miss  Garr  looked  about  the  room  in  silent  uncer- 
tainty. 

"  Have  you  —  I  mean,  has  the  lady,  for  example,  any 
witnesses  —  any  one  who  has  heard  the  defendant  that  is 
to  be,"  pursued  Mr.  Beanson,  in  the  language  of  the 
future,  "  express  or  imply  a  promise  ?  " 

She  could  not  say  that  the  lady  had. 

"  Had  she  any  letters  to  show  which  contained  a  prom- 
ise, either  express  or  implied  ?  " 

"  The  lady,"  responded  Miss  Garr  mysteriously,  "  the 
lady  has  not." 

"  Has  the  plaintiff  been  injured  in  any  way  by  the  de- 
fendant ?  " 

"  Yes,  grossly  !  " 

"  Ah  !  there  I  begin  to  see  a  case.  Set  the  damages 
heavy  —  set  the  damages  heavy.  By  the  by,  is  the  de- 
fendant rich  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Good !  "  said  Mr.  Beanson,  rubbing  his  hands.  "  We 
will  make  the  villain  suffer." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Beanson.  Fifty  thousand  dollars 
will  be  little  enough.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Beanson  ;  "  and 
Miss  Garr  actually  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Beanson  on  the 
spot. 

"  Hem,  ah  !  what  was  —  the  —  nature  of —  these  in- 
juries —  that  you  say  the  defendant  —  had  inflicted  upon 
you  — the  lady,  I  should  say,  the  plaintiff?" 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  227 

I 

Miss  Garr  feigned  an  uneasy  look.  .  "  Must  I  tell  ?  " 
she  demanded,  dropping  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  sorry,  madam,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  ;  since 
the  whole  case  seems  to  hang  upon  that  injury,  or  those 
injuries,  alone." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Sophia,  riveting  her  maidenly  orbs 
meekly  upon  a  broken  coal-scuttle,  "  well,  then,  sir,  he 
kissed  her  in  the  dark  !  "  • 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  Is  it  not  enough,  sir  ?  " 

"  It  might  have  been  enough,"  replied  Mr.  Beanson,  in 
the  stumbling  innocence  which  had  been  the  bane  of  his 
life,  "  it  might  have  been  enough,  madam,  for  the  defen- 
dant, or  for  the  plaintiff,  even,  but  is  hardly  enough  to 
ground  an  action  of  breach  of  promise  upon." 

Miss  Garr  was  angry ;  Mr.  Beanson  puzzled ;  and 
both  were  silent.  If  he  had  seen  a  possible  chance  of 
securing  his  first  brief  in  any  other  way,  Mr.  Archibald 
Beanson  would  most  certainly  have  dismissed  Sophia 
instanter.  Running  his  long  fingers  inanely  through  his 
red  hair,  «  Madam  !  "  he  said,  at  last,  «  I  think  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  consult '  Bishop  on  Marriage.' " 

"  Now  look  here,  sir,"  observed  Miss  Sophia,  wrapping 
her  ready-made  cloak  tighter  around  her,  "  if  you  keep 
on,  I  shall  lose  my  patience  and  my  good  manners.  Who 
in  the  world  wants  to  consult  the  bishop  on  marriage  ? 
An  ordinary  minister,  or  even  a  justice  of  the  peace  will 
do  me.  I  am  not  proud,  sir." 

Mr.  Beanson,  trying  to  look  learned,  succeeded  in 
looking  confused.  Undoubling  himself  again  —  this 
time  with  abstruse  deliberation  —  he  went  to  a  meagre 
book  case  and  returned  to  his  desk.  "  It  was  this  book," 
said  lie,  "  that  I  had  reference  to  — '  Bishop  on  Marriage 
and  Divorce  ! '  " 


228  GLOVERSON 

4 

"  Well,  now  you  begin  to  get  sensible,"  remarked  Miss 
Garr,  in  a  tone  and  manner  which,  expressed  in  words, 
would  have  read,  "  I  grant  your  pardon,  sir,  for  your 
trivial  mistake  about  ministers  and  bishops." 

Mr.  Beanson  opened  the  book,  and,  glancing  over  the 
table  of  contents,  his  eye  rested  on  the  heading  of  a 
chapter  which  read  thus  :  "  Want  of  Age."  In  his 
utter  helplessness,  Archibald  looked  up  again  at  Sophia 
and  asked, — 

"  Is  there  any  want  of  age  in  the  parties  ?  " 

"  Now  look  here,  sir ;  I  did  not  come  here  to  be  in- 
sulted. You  think  I  do  not  understand  your  irony.  I 
would  have  you  to  know  that  I  do." 

"  I  asked  that  question,"  said  Mr.  Beanson  soothingly, 
"  with  all  due  reverence  for  your  age.  This  is  the  first 
time  you  have  openly  acknowledged  that  you  are  the 
plaintiff  in  the  contemplated  suit.  I  have  known  it  all 
along,  however;  and  I  therefore  assure  you  that  the 
question  about  age  was  suggested  wholly  by  my  igno- 
rance as  to  the  other  party  —  the  defendant." 

Mr.  Beanson,  without  perusing  the  commentary  on  this 
speech,  written  in  the  face  of  his  client,  now  glanced  his 
eye  back  to  the  table  of  contents  again.  The  question 
suggested  this  time  seemed  to  that  astute  pundit  an 
honest  one,  and  based  on  sufficient  grounds  :  "  Want  of 
mental  capacity,"  he  read.  "  That's  it !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  There  may  be  a  want  of  mental  capacity  in  one  of  the 
parties.  Do  you  think  the  defense  could  make  that 
out  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Beanson. 

"  It.  might  be,"  replied  Miss  Garr,  still  pursuing  the 
thought  into  which  she  had  been  drifted,  and  in  which 
she  had  gradually  drowned  some  of  her  indignation  at 
the  unsuspecting  Archibald.  Lang's  late  conduct  may 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  229 

have  been  dictated  by  insanity  —  proposing  to  Amelia 
after  engaging  himself  to  her,  Sophia  Garr !  "  Really, 
Mr.  Beanson,  it  might  be." 

"  Indeed,  madam  ?  Then  we  must  guard  against 
that !  " 

The  client  looked  inquiringly  at  the  lawyer,  who  was 
for  a  moment  wrapped  in  a  mute  study.  "  Can  the  de- 
fense, madam,"  demanded  Mr.  Beanson  at  last,  "can  — 
can  they  prove  that  you  have  ever  been  in  Stockton,  or 
any  private  insane  asylum  ?  " 

Here  the  reader  who  has  visited  the  Sandwich  Islands 
may  pause  to  congratulate  himself.  Remembering  the 
crater  of  Mauna  Loa,  he  will  have  a  more  vivid  idea  of 
Miss  Garr's  feelings  than  anything  but  that  molten  sea 
of  lava  could  possibly  suggest.  Sophia  jumped  indig- 
nantly to  her  feet,  and  poured  a  tide  of  epithets,  so 
seething-hot,  over  the  head  of  the  astonished  Archibald, 
that  for  a  moment  he  succumbed  before  it,  blank  and  still 
as  some  patriarchal  porpoise,  lava-cooked,  and  cast  upon 
the  beach  of  Hawaii. 

"  You  wretch  !  "  was  the  comparatively  calm  peroration 
of  Miss  Garr,  "you — you  horrid  wretch!  I  have  a 
mind  to  sue  you  for  slander.  How  dare  you  p*it  such  a 
stigma  on  my  character  when  you  know,  or  ought  to 
know  that  George  Lang  is  the  one  that  is  insane  ! " 

"  Oh,  ah !  George  Lang,  my  employer  ?  "  exclaimed 
Mr.  Beanson  coming  to  life.  "  That's  the  gentleman  you 
would  prosecute.  Well,  now ! " 

To  the  intense  astonishment  of  Archibald  an  increas- 
ing bitterness  of  manner  succeeded,  and  he  said,  "  If  you 
are  not  insane,  madam,  you  are  certainly  in  your  dotage. 
Why,  look  at  this  desk  here  !  Every  one  of  these  papers 


230  GLOVERSON 

is  a  deed  made  out  by  order  of  the  gentleman  you  would 
rob.  Go  along  with  your  breach  of  promise  !  The  court 
would  sencl  you  to  an  asylum  as  sure  as  guns ! " 

Mr.  Beanson's  face  grew  brighter  as  his  indignation 
grew  ;  and  his  entire  head  was  girt  about  with  an  un- 
wonted appearance  of  youth.  Sophia's  rough  handling, 
like  sand-paper  upon  an  antique  bust,  had  rubbed  some 
of  the  yellow  mould  away  —  had  lifted  that  mysterious 
veil  woven  by  the  semblance  of  years,  and  had  opened 
up  to  her  eyes  and  ours,  the  perfect  glories  of  Mr.  Bean- 
son's  Golden  Age. 

"  You  came  here,  no  doubt,  madam,"  continued  Archi- 
bald, with  no  such  interruption  as  the  foregoing  para- 
graph, "  in  fact,  I  feel  sure,  madam,  you  came  here  to 
prevail  on  me  to  enter  into  a  plot  against  my  only  pres- 
ent employer,  and  may  be  (here  Mr.  Beanson  was  very 
bitter  in  the  curl  of  his  lip  and  his  general  tone),  may 
be  ?  —  no,  I  am  sure,  too,  that  you  would  attempt  to 
marry  me,  at  last,  as  a  meet  punishment  for  being  your 
accomplice.  Oh  !  I  see  it  in  your  eye,  madam  ;  you  need 
not  deny  it !  " 

Miss  Garr,  at  one  time  or  another,  since  she  had  read 
Mr.  Beanson's  name  on  his  card,  might  have  thought 
vaguely  of  "  prospecting  "  him  for  a  husband,  in  case  of 
the  failure*  of  all  other  claims;  but  to  do  her  justice,  it 
was  only  ineffable  rage  that  Archibald  saw  in  her  eye,  as 
he  repeated  —  though  Sophia  had  not  attempted  to 
speak  —  "  You  need  not  deny  it,  for  I  tell  you  I  see  it  in 
your  eye  !  and  as  for  Mr.  Lang,  I  am  doing  his  notary 
business  and  a  great  deal  of  it,  too,  especially  of  late. 
He  is  selling  hosts  of  property  —  hosts  of  property, 
madam,  in  the  name  and  with  the  written  consent 
of  the  Claytons.  Why,  the  very  heaviest  sale  is  to 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  231 

be  made  to-day.  Now  what  does  this  mutual  confidence 
presuppose  ?  Madam,"  said  Mr.  Beanson,  rising  and 
assuming  an  air  of  mock  politeness,  "if  you  were  as  sure 
that  you  are  sane,  as  I  am  that  he  is  going  to  marry  the 
daughter  of  Mrs.  Clayton,  you  would  not  have  taken  up 
so  much  of  my  valuable  time  from  Mr.  Lang's  business. 
But,  madam,  this  is  the  door,"  concluded  Mr.  Beanson 
with  an  urbane  wave  of  the  hand,  as  he  resumed  his  seat 
and  began  silently  to  arrange  the  papers  before  him. 
•  Miss  Sophia,  white  with  rage,  did  not  stir  or  speak. 
Involuntarily  the  hands  of  Mr.  Beanson  paused  in  the 
labors  they  had  undertaken,  and  fell  heavily,  one  on  each 
side  of  his  chair,  almost  to  the  floor.  As  he  sat  and 
gazed  at  the  still  shape  before  him,  the  idea  of  the  ghost 
in  Hamlet  was  suddenly  suggested  to  the  fertile  mind  of 
Mr.  Beanson.  This  was  not  a  remarkable  conception, 
taken  apart  from  its  consequences ;  yet  Mr.  Beanson,  for- 
getting the  matter  of  gender,  not  only  congratulated  him- 
self on  the  aptness  of  the  allusion,  though  not  expressed 
in  words,  but  actually  chuckled,  and  at  last,  laughed  out- 
right, as  an  encouragement  to  his  own  genius. 

Had  it  not  been  for  this  fatal  laugh,  Miss  Garr  could 
have  spoken,  and  her  speech  might  have  been  terrible. 
But  something  came  perversely  up  into  her  throat. 
Turning  briskly  upon  her  heel  she  darted  through  the 
door  to  be  in  advance  of  her  own  tears ;  and  she  and  the 
first  brief  of  Mr.  Archibald  Beanson  disappeared  to- 
gether. 

"  I  hope,"  mused  that  gentleman  to  himself  as  he  put 
his  pen-holder  between  his  teeth  and  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  recurring  to  his  happy  allusion  to  Shakespeare,  "  I 


232  GLOVERSON 

hope  it  (meaning  his  first  brief)  will  never  come  to  me 
again  '  in  such  a  questionable  shape ! ' ' 

Mr.  Beanson  laughed  louder  than  before  at  this  meteor 
flash  of  intellect,  and  modestly  resumed  his  writing. 


f 

AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  233 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE    GALA   AFTERNOON. 

FIRST  the  sun  arose,  and  then  the  baker's  wife,  at 
North  Beach.  The  sun  was  bright  and  golden  ;  the  ba- 
ker's wife  somewhat  obscured  by  a  cloud  of  curl-papers. 
"This  is  Saturday,"  she  said;  "I  must  get  about  my 
work  early,  to  be  in  time  for  the  promenade ;"  and  she 
began  by  a  vigorous  exercise  of  the  broom,  while  the 
baker  slept  on.  They  had  no  children  living.  The  ba- 
ker had  come  to  consider  this  early  dust,  on  Saturday 
morning,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  compromised  by  hav- 
ing his  head  shampooed  every  Saturday  noon. 

The  sun  had  been  up  an  hour,  when  the  widow  lady 
of  perennial  youth,  who  keeps  a  fashionable  boarding- 
house  on  Mission  Street,  called  to  her  two  daughters,  in 
the  adjoining  room,  and  threatened  them,  if  they  did  not 
march  right  down  stairs  "  this  instant,"  and  help  the 
Chinaman  get  breakfast,  they  should  not  go  a  step  on 
Montgomery  Street  "  this  blessed  day." 

The  sun  had  been  up  two  hours  when  the  pretty  little 
school-mistress,  who  wishes  she  could  find  a  boarding- 
house  where  the  men  are  not  all  so  common  and  unro- 
mantic,  turned  on  her  pillow,  and  thought  how  stupid  it 
was  that  breakfast  was  all  over ;  and  yawned  and  ex- 
claimed to  herself — "Well,  well,  this  is  Saturday.  I 
must  get  up,  or  my  new  dress  will  not  be  finished  in 
time  for  the  afternoon  promenade." 


234  GLOVERSON 

The  sun  had  been  up  three  hours,  when  a  brevet  ma- 
jor and  a  second  lieutenant  of  the  Regulars  crawled  over 
each  other  on  to  the  carpet  of  a  fifth  story  room  in  the 
Occidental  Hotel.  "  Blast  that  last  drink,"  said  one ; 
"•  it  has  got  cross-ways  in  my  head." 

"  Blast  these  green-backs,"  rejoined  the  other.  "  A 
man  can't  live  on  his  pay  out  here  !  How  am  I  going  to 
do  for  gloves  this  afternoon  ?  There  isn't  a  pair  here 
that  I  haven't  worn  on  the  promenade." 

The  sun  had  been  up  four  hours,  when  a  maid-servant 
knocked  at  the  chamber  door  of  the  aristocratic  Mrs. 
Leadbetter  of  Rincon  Hill. 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  matter,  now  ?  Ill  have  you 
horsewhipped  and  sent  away  as  soon  as  I  awake,"  said 
that  estimable  lady,  as  the  girl  entered. 

"  I  have  brought  your  breakfast,  ma'am." 

"  But  what  right  have  you  to  come  he^e  at  this  un- 
seasonable hour,  and  spoil  my  sleep  ?  " 

"  I  have  done  just  as  you  told  me,  ma'am ;  you  "  — 

"  You  impudent  hussy !  did  I  tell "  — 

"  It  is  eleven  o'clock,  Mrs.  Leadbetter,  and  Saturday." 

"  Saturday,  Jane  ?  Did  you  say  Saturday  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Leadbetter,  sitting  up  in  bed.  "  Well,  Jane,  I  will 
pardon  you.  You  may  have  that  old  silk  skirt  I  prom- 
ised you,  if  you  wish  to  go  on  Montgomery  Street  this 
afternoon." 

The  sun  had  been  up  five  hours,  when  a  well-dressed 
negro  made  the  hasty  circuit  of  a  long  hall,  in  a  certain 
gilded  house,  and  tapped  respectfully  at  several  doors. 
Then  there  was  a  sudden  tumult  of  busy  preparation 
in  the  mirrored  rooms.  Powder,  rouge,  and  crimping- 
irons  wrought  the  labors  of  their  bondage  to  the  queens 
of  that  godless  Egypt.  For  the  well-dressed  negro,  in 
making  his  round,  had  said  sonorously  — 


AND  HIS  SILENT   PARTNERS.  235 

•   "  Twelve  o'clock,  ladies ;  Saturday !  " 

These  "  ladies  "  were  aware  that  the  afternoon  prom- 
enade was  their  best  advertisement. 

The  sun  had  been  up  six  hours,  and  now  seemed  to 
stand  still,  right  over  Montgomery  Street.  The  sky  was 
cloudless  —  a  dome  too  vast  for  ornament.  The  hall  for 
the  festival  was  ready,  only  the  revelers  had  not  yet  come. 
A  few  brokers  and  speculators  were  grouped  about  the 
corners,  as  if  inspecting  the  scene  of  the  future  carnival 
—  a  fancy,  by  the  way,  not  inappropriate;  since  their 
money  had  contributed  largely  to  the  splendid  millinery 
of  the  display  which  soon  should  float  by  those  same 
corners. 

The  world  was  at  lunch. 

While  the  banker's  clerk  lingered  over  his  fish  chowder, 
his  thoughts  were  at  sea.  A  thronged  Montgomery 
Street  seemed  to  go  straight  across  the  beef  a  la  mode 
on  the  plate  of  the  Front  Street  salesman.  Both  were 
pining  for  three  o'clock  to  come,  when  their  establish- 
ments should  close. 

The  exquisite  young  lady  of  South  Park  saw  stereo- 
scopic views  of  the  Mercantile  Library  in  her  cup  of  tea, 
for  it  w'as  from  that  learned .  trysting  place  she  was  to 
eommence  her  promenade  with  a  young  gentleman  just 
from  New  York,  whose  parents  were  undoubtedly 
wealthy. 

The  world  was  especially  at  lunch,  at  the  Lick  House. 
Luncheon  was  also  served  on  Bush  Street  Hill,  and  Har- 
rison Hill,  and  the  subject  of  dresses  and  carriages  was 
discussed  and  decided  upon  at  all  those  places,  amid  the 
languors  of  biscuits  and  preserves. 

"  Amelia,"  said  Mrs.  Clayton,  moving  away  from  the 
table, "  Amelia,  will  you  ride  out  with  me  this  afternoon  ?  " 


236  GLOVERSON 

"  I  think  I  will,"  replied  the  young  lady,  a  little  sadly  , 
"  I  want  to  see  the  crowd." 

"  Never  heard  one  man  called  a  crowd  before  ! "  was 
the  remark  Miss  Garr  would  have  made,  if  she  had  then 
been  left  suddenly  alone  with  her  old  friend  from  the 
State  of  Maine.  "  If  you  have  no  objection,  ladies,"  — 
this  is  what  Sophia  really  did  say  —  "I  should  like  to  ac- 
company you.  I  am  so  weak  and  nervous  that  I  cannot 
walk  to-day;  and  I  should  also  like  to  look  upon  the 
crowd." 

"  Well,  well,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Clayton,  with  gracious  con- 
descension, "  I  suppose  we  can  all  go.  Yes,  yes,  we  will 
go-" 

The  next  two  hours  were  a  period  of  transition,  the 
sun  yet  apparently  standing  still  upon  the  fashionable 
Gibeon.  An  occasional  gorgeous  toilet  swept  by,  but  on 
the  sublime  mission  of  mingling  the  real  with  the  ideal 
—  namely,  shopping  with  display.  A  half  hour  later,  on 
Montgomery  Street,  and  the  ideal  swallows  up  the  real. 
Display  is  all  in  all. 

And  that  half  hour  had  finally  arrived.  The  gilding, 
and  the  exhausted  air,  and  the  real  gold  of  the  alloyed 
drama,  and  the  water-color  glories  of  the  afternoon  thea* 
tres  were  deserted,  and  their  human  garniture  strewn 
upon  Montgomery  Street.  The  spectators  had  mingled 
with  the  actors  in  a  larger  scene. 

Young  ladies,  with  old  faces ;  old  faces,  with  young 
dresses  ;  the  rich  in  poor  attire  ;  the  poor,  in  rich  attire  ; 
young  gentlemen  the  backs  of  whose  heads  were  intel- 
lectual and  ornate ;  middle-aged  gentlemen,  from  whose 
heads  the  hair  had  been  worn  away  in  covering  sins  ; 
overgrown  school-girls,  in  short  dresses,  because  their 


AND -HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  237 

mothers  wore  short  dresses  at  their  ages,  and  cannot 
understand  why  climate  should  break  in  on  old  customs ; 
all  these,  and  hundreds  more,  few  saints,  and  many  sin- 
ners, passed  and  repassed  one  another,  on  this  occidental 
Corso.  The  weekly  carnival  was  at  its  height.  The 
gilding,  and  the  exhausted  air,  and  the  real  gold,  and  the 
water-color  glories  of  our  poor  humanity  were  grouped 
and  marshaled  for  the  spectacle,  and  the  angels,  let  us 
hope,  were  the  pitying  spectators. 

Just  as  the  two  young  ladies,  whose  mother  keeps  the 
fashionable  boarding-house,  had  bowed  smilingly  to  the 
major  and  second  lieutenant,  who  lodge  in  the  fifth  story 
of  the  elegant  hotel  —  the  clash  of  gongs  and  the  roll  of 
muffled  drums  jostled  harshly  against  the  air.  The 
smiles  of  the  officers  were  syncopated  by  a  sudden  ex- 
pression of  alarm.  Then  a  wild  bugle  note  rose  out;  of 
the  gathering  darkness  of  the  sounds,  like  a  rocket,  and 
burst  forth  and  was  lost  in  the  blare  of  a  hundred  instru- 
ments. 

"  Oh,  a  funeral ! "  exclaimed  the  major,  directing  his 
attention  to  his  glove,  which  had  come  unclasped  in*  his 
unwonted  emotion. 

"  Yes,  a  musician's  funeral.  You  can  tell  by  the  num- 
ber of  the  instruments.  That's  the  way  they  always  turn 
out.  But  here  she  comes ;  we  must  do  this  thing  ele- 
gantly, you  know,  old  fellow."  And  the  two,  raising  their 
hats  to  a  lady  of  very  questionable  reputation,  passed  on. 

The  procession  was  just  turning  into  Montgomery 
Street.  First  came  the  musicians,  with  crape  upon  their 
arms,  keeping  slow  time  to  their  own  music ;  next  the 
hearse,  through  whose  glass  sides  a  silver-mounted  coffin 
could  be  seen  ;  then,  a  carriage,  occupied  by  two  persons 
of  our  acquaintance  —  Frau  Carpenter  on  the  back  seat, 


238  GLOVERSON 

and,  on  the  front,  a  gentleman  whose  face  was  not  dis- 
cerned from  without.  It  was  not  pride,  however,  that 
had  caused  Amos  to  draw  the  curtain.  There  is  no 
caste  in  kindliness  of  heart.  Grief  had  made  equals  of 
the  two  chief  mourners. 

The  next  carriage  was  occupied  by  the  portly  form  of 
Mr.  Andrew  Gloverson,  alone.  That  gentleman's  infal- 
lible judgment  had  led  him  to  discover  something  wrong 
with  his  faithful  cashier,  inasmuch  as  Dixon  had  not 
been  at  the  counting-house  in  two  days.  So  Mr.  Glover- 
son  had  hunted  him  up,  and,  being  made  acquainted  with 
as  many  of  the  circumstances  (all  names  but  Karl's 
omitted),  as  Amos  had  thought  honorable  to  reveal,  the 
good  old  merchant  had  insisted  on  sharing  in  the  cere- 
mony and  in  the  expenses  of  the  funeral. 

A  train  of  empty  carriages  followed  to  bring  the  mu- 
sicians back  from  the  cemetery. 

As  the  procession  pursued  its  way  down  the  crowded 
street,  the  grand  music  of  the  funeral  march  breaking  in 
upon  the  talk  and  laughter  of  the  gay  promenaders  — 
Death  eloquent,  Life  buoyant  —  it  was  as  the  meeting  of 
two  currents ;  and  many  a  heart  was  caught  and  whirled 
about  in  the  silent  eddies  between  them. 

The  baker's  wife,  of  North  Beach,  paused  and  looked 
away  from  the  gaudy  trimmings  of  her  cloak,  and  away 
from  the  hearse  and  the  coffin,  somewhere  out  into  va- 
cancy toward  the  sky.  She  was  thinking  of  her  dead 
first-born. 

For,  if  the  wail  of  the  gongs  and  the  subdued  thunder 
of  the  muffled  drums  were  fraught  with  awe  and  warn- 
ing, the  sublime  theme  of  the  music  that  floated  magnifi- 
cently above  all,  was  full  of  the  mystery,  and  the  majesty, 
and  the  hope  of  Death. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  239 

Two  inmates  of  the  gilded  house,  whose  faces  had  been 
singing  the  To  triumphe  of  paint  and  powder,  all  the  way 
from  Market  Street,  caught  each  other  by  the  arm  con- 
vulsively, beneath  their  costly  furs.  There  came  a  color 
in  the  cheek  of  one,  and  a  pallor  in  that  of  the  other, 
which  had  never  been  bought  or  sold.  It  was  the  honest 
handiwork  of  their  own  sore  hearts,  bowed,  for  a  moment, 
before  the  King  of  Terrors.  One  thought  of  the  dead 
man  who  had  wronged  her,  and  the  other  of  the  dead 
man  she  had  wronged. 

Two  newspaper  reporters,  standing  in  the  wake  of 
the  music,  as  it  were,  for  they  did  not  speak  till  the  pro- 
cession had  fairly  passed,  carried  on  the  following  laconic 
dialogue :  — 

"  One  of  the  Philharmonic  Society,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Ye-es!" 

"  What  name  ?  " 

"  Don't  know.  Heard  it,  too  ;  something  Dutch,  I  be- 
lieve ! " 

First  reporter,  putting  up  his  note-book.  "  Well,  it's 
hardly  worth  while.  These  things  are  getting  too  com- 
mon for  a  good  item." 

"  You  are  right.  Would  to ,  that  somebody  would 

murder  somebody !  Verily  I  must  have  Irish  blood  in 
my  veins." 

"What,  are  you  spoiling  for  a  fight?  Get  up  one, 
then,  and  a  sensation  item  at  the  same  time  ! " 

"  No,  no  ;  I  mean  a  funeral  always  makes  me  thirsty." 

"  Oh,  ah !     Then  let's  take  a  drink  !  " 

Exeunt  reporters  up  a  side  street. 

Mrs.  Leadbetter,  and  the  little  school-mistress,  in  search 


240  GLOVERSON 

of  a  sentimental  boarding-house,  passed  each  other  and 
the  coffin  simultaneously.  Whereupon  Mrs.  Leadbetter 
divided  her  thoughts  between  a  sneer  at  the  new  dress  of 
the  little  school-mistress,  and  a  speculation  as  to  when 
she  herself  should  have  the  satisfaction  of  following  the 
coffin  of  Mr.  Leadbetter,  her  liege  lord.  The  little 
school-mistress,  touched  by  the  extraordinary  number  of 
the  instruments,  had  been  musing,  and  wondering  what 
high-sounding  name,  in  the  bright  hereafter,  would  be 
graven  upon  her  own  tomb-stone*till  the  richness  of  Mrs. 
Leadbetter's  attire  swallowed  up  the  whole  soul  of  the 
little  school-mistress,  in  admiration  and  envy  of  the  living 
present. 

The  vehicles  in  the  street  drew  respectfully  aside  to 
make  way  for  the  sad,  beautiful  pageant.  Among  others 
was  the  Clayton  carriage. 

"  What  under  the  sun  is  the  matter,  now  ?  "  demanded 
Mrs.  Clayton. 

"  It's  jist  a  fun'ral,  ma'am !  "  was  the  coachman's  sooth- 
ing answer  to  his  mistress. 

"  How  shocking  !  "  emitted  Miss  Garr,  with  a  shudder, 
which  may  have  been  genuine. 

"  What   macmificent   music  ! "  Amelia    exclaimed.  "  I 

o 

wonder  who  is  dead." 

"  Oh !  it's  only  a  musician,"  rejoined  Miss  Sophia, 
quietly  resuming  her  usual  stiff  position  in  the  carriage. 

"Only  a  musician?"  repeated  Amelia  as  her  eyes 
kindled.  "  Only  an  artist  of  one  of  the  highest  arts ! 
What  a  glorious  thing  it  is  to 'be  buried  like  a  musician  ! 
Do  you  see  that  host  of  instruments?  Where  is  the 
great  man  who  has  such  a  funeral  ?  For  my  part  I  am 
glad  I  live  in  a  city  where  the  poor  musician  has,  at 
least,  one  ovation  on  earth,  in  the  richest  and  grandest 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  241 

of  burials  —  where  Music  herself  comes  forward  to  vin- 
dicate her  own  votary  —  over  his  corpse  speaks  boldly 
and  magnificently  of  some  of  the  solitary  consolations  of 
his  life.  This  makes  the  musician's  funeral  a  march  of 
triumph,  and  the  greatest  triumph  of  all." 

During  this  rather  excited  speech,  Miss  Sophia's  posi- 
tion on  the  seat  grew  stiffer  than  ever.  That  was  Miss 
Sophia's  only  reply.  Mrs.  Clayton  had  observed  the  pe- 
culiar lights  in  her  daughter's  eyes,  and  Mrs.  Clayton  re- 
membered, too,  that  slumbering  behind  them  as  bivouacs, 
were  the  forces  which  had  dealt  her  countless  defeats. 
She  therefore  looked  out  of  the  carriage  window  in  si- 
lence. And  now  the  three  sat  listening  to  the  wailing 
and  the  sharp  pain  of  the  instruments ;  and  the  grand 
swell  of  the  theme,  always  coming  after,  and  collecting 
all  into  glorious  harmony. 

"Mother,"    said    Amelia,    after   the    procession    had 


"What,  my  child?" 

"  Will  you  have  the  carriage  follow  after  them,  as  far 
as  Market  Street,  at  least  ?  " 

"  Why,  my  child  ?  Why  not  go  home  by  way  of 
Kearny  Street?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  only  I  feel  as  if  I  must  hear  more  of 
this  music." 

The  coachman  was  accordingly  ordered  to  keep  be- 
hind the  empty  carriages  ;  and  thus,  unconsciously,  Ame- 
lia Clayton  formed  one  of  the  funeral  procession  which 
was  bearing  Karl  Schmerling  slowly  toward  the  grave. 

Finally,  the  carnival  was  left  behind.  Death  was  no 
longer  represented  in  the  open-air  masquerade,  but  the 
carnival  and  masquerade  went  on,  gayer  for  the  interrup- 
16 


242  GLOVERSON 

tion.  At  Third  Street,  the  carriage  of  the  Claytons 
turned  homeward.  As  the  music  died  away  in  the  dis- 
tance, it  seemed  to  Amelia  to  have  drifted  into  certain 
melancholy  bars  from  the  "  Song  of  Friendship." 

She  knew,  however,  that  this  was  a  mere  fancy,  and 
explained  it  away  quite  naturally.  At  her  own  request, 
her  mother  had  learned  from  Lang  how  fruitless  had 
been  his  search  for  his  missing  friend,  the  morning  after 
the  eventful  walk  on  Kearny  Street.  Now  Karl  had 
been  a  memb«r  of  the  Philharmonic  Society,  and  a  sub- 
scriber to  the  musical  fund.  So,  evidently,  had  been  this 
unknown  musician.  How,  Amelia  asked  of  herself,  could 
she,  under  the  circumstances,  help  thinking  of  poor  Mr. 
Schmerling  and  his  song  ? 

So,  arriving  home,  Amelia  sat  down  alone  by  the 
piano,  and  played  and  sung  the  "  Song  of  Friendship  " 
from  beginning  to  end. 

The  sun  was  inking  slowly  into  the  Pacific,  its  last 
rays  lingering  aslant,  on  the  new-made  grave  at  Lone 
Mountain,  as  the  farewell  dirge  was  played.  It  so  hap- 
pened that  George  Lang,  coming  in  rather  late  from  his 
drive  to  the  Cliff,  heard  the  music  as  he  passed,  and.  the 
better  to  listen,  slackened  the  speed  of  the  new,  blooded 
horse  he  had  seen  fit  to  buy,  since  Karl  had  disappeared. 

After  listening  awhile,  Lang  said  to  himself,  "  What 
makes  that  music  so  gloomy  ?  Why  does  it  set  me  to 
thinking  of  that  dreamer  ?  0  bosh  !  "  whipping  up  his 
horse;  "it's  just  because  I  am  later  than  usual  to  dinner. 
Many  a  fellow,  before  me,  has  thought  himself  sad  when 
he  was  only  hungry !  "  And  the  broker's  stylish  "  Brews- 
ter"  disappeared. 

The  dirge,  just  at  its  close,  burst  into  a  grand  swell, 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  243 

and  soared  aloft  in  a  haze  of  sound,  which  seemed  not  so 
much  a  reflection  as  a  part  of  the  purple  sunset.  Then 
the  last  echoes  died  away  in  the  surrounding  hills ;  but 
the  purple  of  the  sunset  remained,  as  if  the  music  had 
been  caught  up  by  the  angels,  and  prolonged  through 
the  skies. 

Thus  Karl  was  buried.  Poor  Karl !  betrayed  be- 
cause, forsooth,  his  trust  was  too  great,  and  his  soul  too 
fine.  Yet,  had  he  not  been  so  fine-souled,  Art  would 
never  have  revealed  her  divinity  to  him,  and  spoken  in 
him,  and  through  him,  and  triumphed,  even  in  his  death  ; 
and  Nature  would  never  have  glassed  herself  in  him,  to 
see  herself  twofold  —  the  form  and  spirit  eidolon.  The 
good  may  suffer,  and  we  may  not  see  the  retribution  on 
the  wicked ;  yet  who  shall  say  that  the  music  which  went 
out  toward  the  sea  and  the  setting  sun  was  not,  in  real- 
ity, caught  up,  and  prolonged  with  ineffable  sweetness, 
by  the  seraphim  about  the  throne  of  eternal  Justice  ? 


244  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE   INTERIORS    OP   TWO   MINDS. 

ABOUT  a  week  had  elapsed,  when  Amos  Dixon  found 
himself,  in  the  early  dusk  of  evening,  walking  along  Sec- 
ond Street,  toward  Folsom.  He  could  not  have  told  why 
he  took  that  way  home.  It  did  not  seem  to  make  much 
difference,  however ;  no  street  looked  natural  to  him  any 
more.  The  coaches  and  carriages  ranged  themselves 
into  melancholy  funeral  processions  before  him,  and  when 
he  looked  closer,  to  convince  himself  of  the  unreasona- 
bleness of  his  fancy,  the  scornful  and  indignant  face  of 
Amelia  Clayton  looked  out  upon  him  from  the  panels 
of  the  omnibuses  and  street-cars. 

It  is  true  he  had  learned  from  the  doctor  that  Amelia 
could  not  have  arrived  in  time  to  see  Karl  alive ;  that 
Karl  was  probably  dying  when  he  (Amos)  left  the  room ; 
and  that  the  doctor  had  not  expected  Karl  to  live. 
Amelia's  presence,  then,  could  not  have  saved  him. 

This  was  a  mountain  raised  from  Dixon's  mind  —  only 
to  be  replaced  by  another  nearly  as  crushing.  He  could 
now  dwell  almost  exclusively  on  his  rebuff  at  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton's. He  still  had  the  little  package  Karl  had  left  for 
Amelia,  and  he  believed  he  was  doing  wrong  not  to  send 
it  to  her ;  yet  he  clung  to  it  as  the  only  hope  of  ever 
gaining  her  presence  again.  He  was  determined  to  see 
her  long  enough  to  apologize  for  the  rudeness  with  which 
he  had  searched  her  Vwse;  somehow,  hoping  against 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  245 

hope,  that  for  Karl's  sake,  she  would  forgive  him  at  least 
that.  This  was  his  excuse  for  carrying  the  package 
always  about  with  him.  When  he  should  part  with  that, 
he  must  part  with  the  idea  of  Amelia  Clayton.  He  never 
thought  of  this,  however,  without  sighing,  and  adding  to 
himself  that  it  was  hard  always  to  be  a  man. 

Then  he  would  add  a  mental  amendment,  that  it  was 
not  necessary  to  forget  her  wholly,  and  he  would  end  by 
assuring  himself  that  it  could  not  be  wrong  to  retain  a 
grateful  memory  —  and  to  bless  it  —  of  the  good  she 
had  done,  in  beckoning  him  higher  up  the  steeps  of  man- 
hood. This  would  lead  him  to  think  of  Karl's  hopeful 
fancy  of  the  sunshine  coming  earliest  to  the  mountain 
and  lingering  there  the  longest.  Then  he  would-  re- 
member that  this  was  merely  a  fancy  —  only  of  an  oppo- 
site nature  to  the  one  that,  in  his  own  troubled  mind, 
turned  the  vehicles  of  the  street  into  hearses,  and  the 
painted  portraits  into  angry  and  indignant  Amelias. 
Summing  up  all,  he  would  invariably  come  to  the  single 
conclusion,  at  last,  that  he  was  altogether  miserable. 

As  Amos  walked  along  Second  Street,  on  the  early 
evening  in  question,  he  had  gone  through  this  line  of 
thought  once  —  even  to  the  end.  and  commencing  again, 
had  just  arrived  at  the  sunshine  on  the  mountain  of 
Karl's  fancy  —  when  he  suddenly  espied  George  Lang 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way,  going  in  the  same  di- 
rection, and  evidently  observing  him. 

The  intermediate  links  to  the  miserable  conclusion 
were  jumped  over  at  once.  There  was  something,  how- 
ever, mingled  in  his  misery,  this  time,  that  Amos  did  not 
recollect  ever  having  experienced  before.  "  That  man," 
thought  Dixon,  "  is  going  to  Folsom  Street,  and  he  does 
not  bow,  though  I  am  sure  he  sees  me.  Well,  I  suppose 


246  GLOVERSON 

he  has  a  right  to  go  there  as  her  accepted.  But  then 
ought  he  to  be  her  accepted  ?  He  is  a  villain,  and  she 
ought  to  know  it.  If  some  one  would  only  tell  her !  She 
of  course  would  not  believe  me,  or  an  anonymous 
warning.  She  is  too  high-minded  !  And  I  should  be 
more  contemptible  in  her  eyes  and  my  own,  for  my  pains. 
Still,  I  suppose  I  have  the  only  proof  of  his  villainy  :  the 
papers  of -Karl.  What  shall  I  do  —  what  shall  I  do  ? 
Shall  I  show  her  the  proofs,  and  then  positively  refuse 
to  marry  her,  myself —  or  I  mean,  warn  her,  when  I  see 
her,  and  tell  her  that  I  am  not  the  only  man  in  the 
world  —  though  I  sometimes  wish,  for  her  sake  —  no, 
my  sake  —  that  I  was :  so,  she  needs  not  necessarily 
marry  me  if  she  does  not  marry  him.  But  she  would  in 
any  case  think  me  a  selfish  if  not  a  conceited  fool,  and, 
may  be,  she  would  be  right.  Somehow,  I  never  can 
think  straight  about  her.  If  she  were  only  a  man,  for 
about  half  an  hour,  I  would  get  through  everything. 
Then,  after  all,  what  a  blessing  it  is  for  her  —  no,  for 
me,  —  that  she  is  not  a  man.  Yes,  Lang  is  certainly 
going  to  Folsom  Street.  He  sees  me,  and  does  not  bow. 
Feeling  as  I  do,  it  would  not  be  honest  to  bow  first, 
and  —  /  will  not !  " 

George  Lang  was  strolling  down  Second  Street,  smok- 
ing his  post-prandial  cigar.  Since  Amelia  had  rejected 
him,  his  digestion  had  seemed  to  require  more  claret  for 
dinner  than  it  had  ever  before  been  his  custom  to  drink. 
He  had  just  partaken  of  two  entire  bottles  of  Chateau 
Leoville,  which  had  indeed,  come  greatly  to  the  aid  of 
his  mental  digestion  also.  There  was  a  strange  gleam 
about  his  thoughts  which  he  mistook  for  a  healthy  cheer- 
fulness. It  must  have  been  a  reflection  from  the  wine, 
for  he  did  not  always  look  so  hopefully  upon  some  of  his 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  247 

schemes.  In  this  borrowed  light,  then,  George  Lang 
was  ruminating  on  divers  matters  important  to  himself, 
and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  vitally  important  to  others 
—  when,  ugh !  he  discovered  Amos  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  way.  "  Is  that  fellow  going  to  Clayton's  ?  "  was 
his  first  thought.  "  I  must  not  meet  this  man  so  much. 
There  is  something  tickling  my  blood  —  there !  my 
nails  have  cut  into  my  palm !  He  is  not  worth  drawing 
blood  for —  at  least,  on  myself.  But  can  he  be  going  to 
Folsom  Street  ?  Mrs.  Clayton  has  promised  me  he  shall 
not  enter  her  house  again,  and  says  she  has,  conformably 
to  my  wishes,  ordered  him  away,  once,  though  he  almost 
frightened  her  to  death.  She  is  sure,  however,  that 
Amelia  does  not  love  him.  Well,  I  am  not  so  sure.  I 
am  certain,  though,  /  never  could  have  loved  her  if  she 
had  not  refused  me.  We  always  want  what  we  cannot 
get  —  but  can't  I  get  her  ?  I  will!  Though  she  is  evi- 
dently unworthy  of  me;  she  doesn't  appreciate  me. 
Then,  do  I  love  her,  or  her  money  ?  Come,  this  is  weak- 
ness. The  money  is  all  —  at  least,  I  shall  soon  know. 
Well  there !  he  has  gone  past  Folsom  Street.  I  believe 
I  should  have  murdered  him,  if  he  had  started  to  go  in 
there  ;  and  somehow,  I  feel  like  murdering  him  for  dis- 
appointing me ;  for  I  really  believed  he  would  attempt  it. 
I  will  turn  down  here  into  Folsom  Street,  and  he  will 
have  the  pleasure  of  thinking  that  I  go  there.  By  the 
way,  I  will  just  see  where  he  is  going  —  without  being 
observed.  The  fellow  may  be  trying  to  deceive  me  ;  or 
he  may  —  now  may  he  ?  —  have  a  meeting  somewhere 
with  Amelia.  I  may  get  a  chance  to  give  him  the  benefit 
of  an  unseen  brick,  for  I  feel  this  tingling,  here  and 
here.  I  wonder,  by  the  by,  if  the  blood  is  the  vital  prin- 
ciple —  the  locus  of  the  soul.  Does  the  blood  think  ? 


248  GLOVERSON 

Now,  if  his  were  spilt,  death  would  follow,  of  course,  and 
then,  and  then  — why  he  would  be  out  of  my  way  —  ah ! 
he  has  turned." 

Here  Lang  threw  his  cigar  away  distastefully.  "  It  is 
that  infernal  weed  that  excites  my  blood  so !  The  idea 
of  a  man  of  my  principle  thinking  of  murder,  and  that  a 
clandestine  one,  all  merely  because  I  have  been  disap- 
pointed !  Liquor  has  a  strange  effect  on  me  of  late. 
Now  I  drank  very  little  before  dinner.  What  folly, 
what  madness  to  put  rny  own  neck  in  peril,  by  breaking 
Dixon's  —  when  a  sweeter  vengeance  can  be  taken  by 
triumphing  over  him  as  I  shall  triumph  over  him  at  last. 
Well,  I  shall  be  more  cool  now,  and  follow  him  up,  surer 
not  to  be  seen." 

Amos  suddenly  turned  again,  and  made  a  slight  detour 
in  a  small  street  which  seemed  to  be  taking  him  back 
whence  he  came. 

Lang  stopped  short,  and  turned  deathly  white.  "  I  will 
kill  him  if  he  does !  But  what  has  become  of  my  pres- 
ence of  mind  ?  I  must  do  nothing  rash  ;  but  if  he  goes 
to  that  house,  and  Mrs.  Clayton  calls  for  help,  as  she  has 
promised  to  do,  money,"  —  rubbing  his  finger-ends  con- 
vulsively against  his  thumb  —  "money,  heaps  of  money, 
and  the  law,  under  the  circumstances  —  burglary,  kid- 
napping, or  something  of  the  sort  —  will  certainly  clear 
me ! " 

This  detour  soon  brought  Dixon  to  the  corner  of  his 
own  little  street.  Here  he  paused.  "  It  is  dark  again," 
thought  Amos  —  "  yet  so  early  to  go  to  my  room ; "  and 
he  stood  looking  sadly  in  the  direction  of  the  elegant 
house. 

Lang  stopped  again,  and  moved  into  the  shadow  of  a 
building.  "  I  suppose  it  must  be  done,"  was  the  sad-des- 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  249 

perate  expression  of  his  eyes,  as  they  wandered  for  a 
moment  from  the  unconscious  object  he  was  watching^ 
and  dwelt  on  the  house  beside  him,  to  see  whether  he 
himself  were  observed.  There  was  no  light  in  the  front 
room,  but  he  could  hear  voices  of  children  in  the  back 
apartments.  No,  he  was  not  observed.  Just,  however, 
as  he  was  about  to  direct  his  attention  again  to  Amos, 
something  lying  across  the  door-step  caught  his  eye.  He 
drew  a  little  nearer  :  then,  he  trembled. 

Reader,  it  was  nothing  that  would  have  alarmed  you, 
whatever  your  age,  or  sex.  It  was  only  a  club  —  a  ball- 
club,  probably  forgotten  there  by  some  juvenile  inmate 
of  the  house. 

Yet  George  Lang  trembled.  "Who  could  have  left 
that  here  for  me  ? "  he  asked  of  himself.  "  Certainly 
Fate,  for  an  object!  "  —  he  seized  it  hurriedly,  and  with 
something  like  a  shudder  —  "  Fate,  or  may  be,  the  —  the 
devil !  "  And  he  again  riveted  his  gaze  upon  Dixon, 
who  was  yet  on  the  corner,  in  evident  indecision. 

"  Would  it  be  any  harm  to  walk  past  Amelia's,  just 
once  ?  "  continued  Amos  to  himself,  still  looking  wistfully, 
toward  the  elegant  house.  "  It  will  be  so  dark  that  no 
one  will  see  me.  No,  it  would  be  sentimental,  and  un- 
manly too :  because,  especially  because  she  would  not 
like  it ! " 

So  Amos  walked  on,  in  the  direction  of  his  little  room. 

Lang  experienced  a  sense  of  relief,  and,  as  he  followed 
at  a  distance,  his  thoughts  ran  something  in  this  manner : 
"  No,  this  club  is  not  a  cowardly  weapon,  because,  on  the 
whole,  I  don't  want  to  kill  the  fellow  —  only  lay  him  up 
for  a  while.  A  month  ago,  no  one  could  have  convinced 
me  that  I  would  carry  this  club,  or  think  of  using  it  on 
any  one.  But  this  disappointment  —  that's  just  the 


250  GLOVERSON 

word  —  disappointment,  all  on  his  account,  has  put  my 
mind  into  an  abnormal  state.  This  "  —  swinging  the  club 
—  "  is  the  strongest  proof  that  I  am  not  in  love  with  her. 
The  tender  passion  always  deals  in  pistols  and  rapiers. 
Such  weapons,  however,  it  would  be  fairly  transcendental 
to  use,  when  one  feels  as  I  do  towards  him." 

Amos  had  not  gone  a  block  before  he  stopped  again, 
and  stood  leaning  over  a  picket  fence,  looking  into  a  little 
front  yard. 

"  What  can  this  man  mean  ?  "  asked  Lang,  as  he  stopped 
too.  "  Does  he  know  that  I  am  following  him,  and  is  he 
leading  me  a  wild  goose  chase,  for  his  own  amusement? 
Or,  what  don't  I  suspect  lately  ?  I  "believe  I  have  to-night 
even  entertained  the  idea  that  Amelia  would  consent  to 
a  clandestine  meeting  with  any  one,  let  alone  that  fellow. 
I  should  have  known  better,  for,  curse  her  dignity,  I  be- 
lieve that's  what  stands  in  my  way  more  than  anything 
else.  She  does  not  believe  I  love  her  —  but  then  what 
can  the  lout  be  gawking  at  there  ?  Most  men,  and  all 
women,  are  downright  fools  when  they  are  in  love. 
Now,  what  an  idiotic  thought  just  crossed  my  mind ! 
That  house,  the  place  where  they  are  to  meet,  or  carry 
on  some  sort  of  communication  !  Surely  I  am  not  in 
love,  but  I  am  becoming  a  fool,  as  fast  as  if  I  were  — 
anything  more  than  disappointed.  Amelia  may  be  in 
love  with  him,  though,  and  that  may  be  the  house ! 
No,  any  one  of  the  sex  but  Amelia  !  There,  he  is  gone 
on.  Let  me  see,  let  me  see.  The  house  is  evidently  un- 
occupied. Well,  what  next  ?  " 

It  was  the  little  brown  house,  that  Amos  had  been 
looking  at  —  the  little  brown  house  in  whose  window  the 
placard  "  To  Let  "  was  still  visible.  He  was  thinking  of 
poor  old  Aunty  Owen ;  and,  wondering  what  had  become 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  251 

of  her,  he  had  resolved  that  it  was  his  duty  to  know. 
Could  a  secret  murder  ever  have  been  meditated,  or  done 
in  his  own  little  street?  And  Amos  had  shuddered  in- 
voluntarily. "The  night  must  be  getting  colder,"  he 
thought,  as  he  had  buttoned  up  his  coat,  and  walked  on. 

Arriving  at  his  little  room,  at  last,  Amos  lit  a  light, 
and  sitting  at  his  table  before  the  window,  he  took  out 
the  packet  that  Karl  had  given  him.  Regarding  the 
seal-ring  a  moment,  he  put  it  back  with  the  few  papers 
—  worthless  shares  in  the  "  Dorcas  "  mine  —  which  had 
accompanied  it.  Then,  he  took  out  the  little  paper  box, 
with  Amelia's  name  on  it,  and  with  the  seal,  that  Karl's 
dying  hand  had  placed  upon  it,  still  unbroken.  Amos 
gazed  on  it,  and  gazed  on  it,  blessing  it  for  the  hope  it 
contained.  She  would  listen  to  him  long  enough,  at 
least,  to  hear  his  apology,  and  of  Karl's  last  moments. 
"  A  little  thing,"  he  thought,  "  to  contain  so  much  com- 
fort ! "  Suddenly  Amos  kissed  the  little  box,  and  then, 
startled  by  what  he  had  done,  looked  up,  and  found  that 
he  had  forgotten  to  draw  down  the  window-curtain, 
which  he  now  proceeded  hurriedly  to  do. 

From  his  position  on  the  sidewalk,  in  the  still  little 
street,  Lang  had  seen  these  movements.  His  surmises 
thereat  were  villainous,  and  his  thoughts  terrible.  "  The 
fellow  has  met  her,  or  will  go  out  to  meet  her  !  If  he 
comes  out,  he  is  a  dead  man ! "  And  Lang  watched, 
and  waited,  and  strolled  about  the  quiet  street,  so  as  to 
escape  suspicion  of  the  few  passers-by,  keeping  his  eye 
constantly  on  the  light  at  the  window. 

About  ten  o'clock,  the  light  disappeared. 

"  Now,"  said  Lang,  in  an  actual  whisper,  "  now  for  him  ! 
A  sure  stroke,  and  there  will  be  no  noise  about  it." 
Grasping  his  club  tightly,  Lang  crouched  himself  behind 


252  GLOVERSON 

a  shrub  that  grew  by  the  gate,  thoroughly  concealing 
him  from  within  and  without. 

Here  he  waited,  and  listened,  till  his  knees  ached  with 
their  severe  cramping.  "  Confound  the  fellow,  will  he 
disappoint  me  after  all  ?  "  he  muttered  as  the  night  grew 
quieter,  and  the  hour  later.  And  still  he  waited  on,  but 
Dixon  did  not  come. 

Before  Lang  had  turned,  with  a  curse,  to  leave  the 
scene,  Amos,  after  a  little  troubled  wakefulness,  was  fast 
asleep  in  his  little  bed,  dreaming  of  Amelia. 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  253 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 

STOCKS. 

THE  confidential  understanding  between  Mrs.  Clayton 
and  Lang  had  been  rather  strengthened  than  weakened 
by  late  events.  The  broker  may  have  had  too  much 
pride  or  too  little  courage  often  to  visit  the  elegant  house ; 
and  besides,  it  was  now  the  busiest  time  ever  known  at 
his  office.  At  any  rate,  Mr.  Nelson  Shallop,  his  crisp 
little  mentor,  was  very  frequently  seen  going  and  coming 
on  Folsom  Street. 

Miss  Sophia  Garr,  learning  who  Mr.  Shallop  was, 
smiled  graciously  upon  that  gentleman  on  the  occasion 
of  his  second  visit,  and  prevailed  upon  him  to  carry  the 
following  "  note  "  to  his  employer.  Unfortunately,  the 
perfume  with  which  it  was  laden  cannot  be  conveyed  to 
the  reader.  You  have,  however,  the  full  benefit  of  her 
copious  underlinings,  and  of  her  elegant  monogram :  — 


"  Wednesday  Noon. 

"  MON  CHERE  GEORGE,  —  Why  do  you  not  come  and  see 
me,  my  own  dearest  ?  I  forgive  your  foolish  faithlessness  in  pro- 
posing to  Amelia  after  being  accepted  by  me,  and  I  think  you 


254  GLOVERSON 

were  very  properly  rebuffed,  which  illustrates  what  weak 
instruments  Providence  takes  to  defend  the  injured.  I  do  not 
see  what  I  would  do  if  it  were  not  for  Providence.  But  if  you 
do  not  feel  like  coming  here  just  now,  why,  pray  do  write  me 
and  send  by  Mr.  Shallop,  your  ugly  little  clerk. 

"  Now,  you  know,  my  best  beloved,  that  Amelia  is  bent  on 
having  that  fool  Dixon.  It  was  scarcely  a  week  ago  that  she 
ran  off  with  him  in  a  carriage  ;  and  now  positively  denies  ever 
having  seen  him,  when  I  actually  saw  the  carriage  disappear 
with  her  in  it  with  my  own  eyes.  1  am  sure  I  am  shocked 
enough,  and  I  trust  you  will  not  say  a  word  about  it,  for  you 
know  what  scandal  is,  and  I  love  Amelia  so  much.  I  say,  for 
my  part,  let  her  marry  him  and  done  with  it. 

"  By  the  way,  now  that  I  am  on  the  subject,  my  dear,  dear 
George,  it  seems  to  be  the  manifest  destiny  of  women  to  marry, 
more  or  less,  but  then  1  am  no  fatalist,  and  Amelia  can  take  care 
of  herself.  I  have  been  too  strictly  brought  up  for  such  errors, 
for  1  think  I  told  you  I  was  educated  at  an  eminent  female  sem- 
inary in  the  State  of  Maine,  because  I  do  not  see  that  they  (I 
mean  we  poor  women)  all  accomplish  our  destiny.  Yet  why  this 
repining  ?  Have  I  forgotten  your  promise  on  that  blissful  even- 
ing when  at  the  door  ?  (OA  /  how  I  blush!)  Yet  I  try  to  re- 
member that  blissful  eve  with  liveliest  emotions  of  regard,  for- 
getting what  has  happened  since,  my  love.  Dear  George,  I  leave 
to  you  the  appointment  of  the  happy  day.  I  feel  that  I  am 
your  equal  only  in  the  matter  of  the  heart,  and  that  though  my 
intellect  is  not  as  strong  as  yours,  I  am  sure  I  have  a  feeling  one. 
I  shall  die  if  you  do  not  write  and  tell  when, '  when  we  shall 
meet  to  part  no  more.'  Eternally  yours,  SOPHIA." 

"  That,"  said  Miss  Garr  to  herself  when  her  messenger 
had  gone,  "  that  will  make  me  out  a  breach  of  promise 
case,  in  spite  of  the  wretch  Beanson."  She  had.  already 
attempted  in  conversation  to  draw  Lang  out  before  others 
into  something  compromising,  but  in  vain.  This  was 
her  last  effort,  and  "  high  hope  "  went  with  it. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  255 

When,  however,  the  next  day,  Mr.  Shallop  returned, 
saying  for  Mr.  Lang  that  there  was  no  answer,  she  be- 
came very  red,  and  then  very  yellow  in  the  face,  as  she 
almost  whispered  :  "No  answer  ?  Did  you  see  him  when 
he  read  it?" 

"Yes,  ma'am!"  answered  Mr.  Shallop,  in  his  quick 
way. 

"  What  did  he  say  or  do  when  he  read  it  ?  " 

"  Nothing  —  only  swore,  then  laughed,  an'  tore  it  up  !  " 

Miss  Garr  disappeared  to  the  penetralia  of  her  own 
apartment,  and  was  seen  no  more  that  afternoon. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Shallop  did  not  happen  to  come,  but 
the  day  after  he  was  closeted  with  Mrs.  Clayton,  when 
Miss  Garr  managed  to  intrude  herself.  The  business  of 
the  first  two  being  over,  Miss  Garr  seemed  to  be  stricken 
with  a  sudden  interest  in  stocks,  and  said  that  she  did 
not  know  but  she  would  invest  two  or  three  thousand 
dollars  of  her  own  little  savings.  Whereupon  there  was 
something  like  a  red  light  shot  from  the  bright  little  eyes 
of  Mr.  Nelson  Shallop.  "  She  has  money,  too,  has  she  ?  " 
thought  the  vivid  Nelson. 

"  He  has  bitten  at  my  new  bait,"  thought  the  Garr. 
"I  will  buy  a  husband,  at  last,  and  without  paying  a 
cent."  For  let  it  be  remembered  that  Miss  Garr's 
mania  did  not  'extend  to  her  money  matters,  in  which  she 
was  shrewdness  itself.  Among  her  own  dollars  and 
cents  she  allowed  no  play  of  imagination. 

It  was  remarkable  what  a  sudden  interest  sprung  up 
between  Mr.  Shallop  and  Miss  Garr.  They  had  not 
talked  long  before  Miss  Garr  was  confirmed  in  her  belief, 
that  as  brisk  and  sharp  a  little  man  as  the  new  "  claim  " 
she  was  "  prospecting,"  could  not  be  without  money  of  his 
own.  Strange  to  say,  Miss  Garr  was  right,  though  she 


256  GLOVERSON 

had  nothing  to  consult  but  her  own  eyes  and  ears,  and 
the  odd  brains  situate  somewhere  between  them.  She 
merely  used  the  shrewd  philosophy  which  the  love  of 
money  develops  sometimes  in  the  weakest  of  mortals, 
putting  the  horse-jockey,  often,  for  a  half  hour,  on  an 
equality  with  the  greatest  diplomat. 

So,  by  the  very  next  steamer,  Miss  Garr  wrote  to  the 
State  of  Maine  that  she  now  had  '•  some  one  to  love." 
This  announcement  somewhat  astonished  an  old  friend 
of  hers,  to  whom  it  was  sent  —  a  maiden,  as  well  as  a 
misanthrope,  who  had  not  heard  from  Miss  Garr  in  years, 
and  who,  for  that  matter,  did  not  care  to  hear  from  her 
in  several  years  to  come.  But  since  the  late  acquisition 
of  paper,  stamped  with  her  own  imposing  initials,  Miss 
Sophia  had  taken  largely  to  epistolary  correspondence. 

Why  a  broker's  clerk  was  so  often  seen  going  into  an 
aristocratic  mansion  like  Mrs.  Clayton's  was  a  matter 
which,  at  that  time,  would  have  needed  not  even  the  slight- 
est explanation.  Any  intelligent  passer-by  would  have 
looked  upon  that  house  as  peculiarly  blessed.  The  ner- 
vous contraction  of  the  dry  wrinkles  on  Mr.  Shallop's 
face,  which  he  intended  for  a  smile,  would  then  and 
there  have  been  mistaken  for  the  smile  of  fortune.  For 
the  great  stock  excitement  was  at  its  height. 

Apothecaries'  clerks  were  achieving  opulence  in  a 
single  day.  School-boys  on  the  street  corners  were  talk- 
ing the  geology  of  gold.  Gray-haired  men  were  abandon- 
ing the  old  sluggish  currents  of  industry,  and  renewing 
their  youth  at  fountains  of  waste-paper.  Merchants  and 
tradesmen  invested  the  earnings  of  years  in  mining  com- 
panies that  had  large  "  names,"  and  long  ones,  but  noth- 
ing like  "  a  local  habitation."  Physicians  deserted  the 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  257 

sick  and  dying  for  "  promising  shares."  Lawyers  fled 
from  the  courts  to  exert  their  eloquence  on  "  bulls  "  and 
"  bears."  Draymen  and  chamber-maids  speculated  with 
their  savings.  Clergymen  bartered  their  salaries  away 
with  the  money-changers,  instead  of  driving  them  from 
the  temple.  Fair  women  came  down  from  their  car- 
peted alcoves,  and  walked  in  the  mire  of  stocks.  Lips 
that  were  shaped  for  tender  utterances,  said  nothing  the 
whole  day  but  the  hardest  kind  of  words  —  "  quartz 
rock,"  "  lodes,"  "  ores,"  and  "  outcroppings."  Shops  and 
parlors  were  full  of  "  specimens."  The  old  myth  of  the 
Gorgon  was  partially  reversed  :  well  nigh  everything 
men  looked  upon  was  turned  to  gold-bearing  stone. 

Probably  the  world  has  never  witnessed  a  parallel. 
The  Law  scheme  of  France  was  comparatively  reason- 
able. Mr.  Andrew  Gloverson  was  not  the  only  sub- 
stantial merchant  on  Front  Street  who  bought  shares 
and  paid  assessments.  Did  not  Mrs.  Leadbetter  make 
twenty  thousand  dollars  in  one  forenoon  ?  In  the  e^ite- 
ment,  even  Mr.  Archibald  Beanson  forgot  his  first  brief. 
With  the  only  ten  dollars  he  could  command,  he  bought 
one  share  in  the  famous  "  Epaminondas  Gold, '  Silver, 
and  Copper  Mining  Company ;  capital  stock  $750,000  ! " 

On  one  occasion  Mr.  Beanson  lived  on  one  meal  a  day 
for  a  month,  so  as  to  pay  his  assessments  —  which  latter 
privilege  proved  all  the  benefit  that  he  ever  reaped  from 
his  speculation. 

As  this  is  an  important  matter  in  Mr.  Beanson's  his- 
tory, it  is  deemed  proper  to  state  all  that  is  known  about 
it  without  further  delay  ;  though  the  result  be  a  sacrifice 
of  the  chronicler's  skill  to  a  love  of  truth. 

After  the  bubble  burst,  Mr.  Beanson's  account  stood 

thus :  — 

17 


258  GLOVERSON 

Cash   paid  for  one  share  in  Epaminondas    Gold,  Sil- 
ver, and  Copper  Mining  Company.     .     $10  00 
«         "       "     assessment  May      1st        $5  00 

"         "       "  "  June      u          20  00 

"         "       «  "  July       "          15  00 

"         "       "  "  August  "          20  00 

Total  assessments $60  00 

Value  of  stock  in  E.  G.  S.  &  C.  M.  Co.,  Sept.  1st      .        SO  00 

In  a  ledger  which  Mr.  Beanson  bought,  in  anticipation 
of  his  great  wealth,  there  stand  at  the  present  day  the 
following  brief,  though  not  very  technical  entries  :  —  ' 

Epaminondas  G.  S.  §*  C.  M'g  Co. 
Dr.         .         .     $70   00  Cr.         .         .     $0  00 

It  is  not  to  be  understood  that  there  were  not  some 
good  mines  among  these  thousands,  or  that  the  majority 
of  the  people  interested  in  the  bad  ones  were  anything 
worse  than  honest  dupes.  The  effect  of  the  excitement, 
hoover,  was  to  raise  the  stock  of  the  good  mines  to 
prices  a  hundred  times  as  high  as  the  dividends  paid 
would  warrant.  Suddenly  the  "  Green  Lion  "  would 
take  a  fall,  and  fortunes  would  slip  away  in  silence.  The 
next  week  the  "  Jones  and  Robinson  "  would  go  up  fifty 
per  cent.,  and  the  same  fortunes  would  come  back  again 
with  the  tide.  The  loss  or  gain  of  a  fortune  got  to  be  a 
thing  so  common,  that  the  quid  nuncs  hardly  thought  it 
worth  gossiping  about ;  and  the  losers  or  gainers  got  to 
pocketing  their  losses  or  gains  with  almost  equal  equa- 
nimity. None  lost  without  hope,  or  indeed  hoped  with- 
out loss. 

It  was  only  the  week  after  the  date  of  Miss  Garr's 
u  note  "  to  Mr.  Lang,  that  Nelson  Shallop  was  ushered 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  259 

into  Mrs.  Clayton's  parlor,  as  he  said,  on  very  important 
business. 

"  Ah !  shall  I  retire,  then  ?  "  simpered  Miss  Garr,  who 
made  it  a  point  now  invariably  to  be  present  when  Mr. 
Shallop  called. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  quoth  Nelson,  whose  attempts  at 
gallantry  were  not  always  as  successful  as  his  stock  oper- 
ations. Politeness  and  love-making,  in  fact,  were  a  new 
business  to  him  ;  and,  as  they  were  in  his  estimation 
nothing  but  business,  he  had  undertaken  to  master  them 
in  the  same  systematic  way  as  he  would  have  undertaken 
to  master  a  new  species  of  "  Double  Entry." 

If  Miss  Garr  should  "  not  in  the  least"  "retire,"  what 
could  she  do  but  work  at  her  tatting,  and  listen  to  the  low 
music  Amelia  was  making  to  herself  at  the  piano  in  the 
farther  end  of  the  large  parlor  ? 

"  Mr.  Lang,"  continued  Mr.  Shallop,  in  his  quick,  ner- 
vous way,  "  told  me  to  break  it  to  you  gently,  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton." 

«  What  —  is  it  good  news  ?  " 

Nelson  shook  his  head.     "  Worst  kind,  ma'am  !" 

Amelia  quitted  the  piano  and  hastened  to  the  side  of 
her  mother,  whose  face  was  bloodless. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  is  it  ?  My  d—  my  friend,  Mr. 
Shallop,"  asked  Miss  Garr,  the  only  one  of  the  ladies 
who  could  speak. 

"  All's  lost !  *  Jones  and  Robinson '  fell  a  hundred  per 
cent,  yesterday  afternoon.  This  house  is  no  longer  yours. 
Very  sorry,  'pon  honor.  Though  you  won't  have  to  quit 
for  three  months  yet.  Mr.  Lang  is  nearly  ruined,  too." 

Most  of  this  speech  was  lost  upon  Mrs.  Clayton  and 
her  daughter.  Mrs.  Clayton  fainted  first,  and  Amelia, 
while  endeavoring  to  afford  assistance,  fell  senseless,  with 
her  arms  about  her  mother's  neck. 


260  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A    LONE    STRUGGLE. 

MRS.  CLAYTON  did  not  leave  her  bed  for  the  succeed- 
ing two  weeks.  Mr.  Shallop  was  sent  daily  to  inquire 
about  her,  for  it  seems  that  Lang  was  anxious  to  have 
an  interview,  as  soon  as  he  could  be  admitted  to  her 
presence. 

Miss  Garr  saw  her  comfortable  home  and  monthly 
salary  knocked  suddenly  from  under  her  feet  —  that  was 
the  way  she  expressed  it  to  herself —  and  Miss  Garr  was 
so  angry  thereat  that  she  could  shed  tears  at  any  moment. 
Miss  Garr  always  did  shed  tears  when  Mr.  Shallop  called ; 
and  Miss  Garr  frequently  shed  tears  and  bemoaned  her 
fate  for  the  encouragement  of  Amelia,  who  was  making 
every  exertion  to  bear  up  under  the  terrible  shock. 

Apprehension  for  her  mother's  life  at  first  absorbed  so 
much  of  the  poor  girl's  attention,  that  she  had  little  time 
to  think  of  the  ruin  that  had  fallen  upon  both  like  a 
thunderbolt  When  Mrs.  Clayton's  recovery  was  no 
longer  despaired  of,  Amelia  began  to  look  about  her,  and 
to  grasp  the  reality,  and  to  make  some  stand  against  it. 
She  was  the  better  enabled  to  do  this,  because  she  saw 
that  it  devolved  upon  her  alone.  Strength  came  to  her 
out  of  her  distrust  of  Miss  Garr,  and  her  mother's  utter 
prostration. 

Three  days  after  the  sad  news  had  come  upon  the  ele- 
gant house,  Miss  Sophia  met  the  aristocratic  Mrs.  Lead- 


AND  HIS   SILENT   PARTNERS.  261 

better  and  told  her  all.  Mrs.  Leadbetter  intimated  that 
she  was  very  sorry,  indeed,  "  But  then,"  asked  she,  "  what 
right  had  a  weak  woman,  like  Mrs.  Clayton,  to  dabble  in 
stocks?" 

To  which  Miss  Garr  rejoined,  "  What  right,  indeed  ! " 
forgetting  that  she  herself  had  more  than  once  seconded 
Lang's  moves,  in  influencing  Mrs.  Clayton  to  it. 

The  next  day  Amelia,  aware  of  her  inexperience,  yet 
forced,  as  she  thought  herself,  to  take  everything  into 
her  own  hands,  was  on  her  way  to  her  mother's  banker 
—  when  she,  too,  met  the  aristocratic  Mrs.  Leadbjgtter. 
The  meeting  was  face  to  face,  and  Mrs.  Leadbetter 
passed  Miss  Clayton  without  the  least  notice.  It  was  a 
dead  cut,  and  Amelia  felt  it.  It  was  painful,  only  as  to 
feel  a  sorrowful  contempt  is  painful.  Amelia  reasoned, 
as  she  walked  quietly  along,  that  it  was  undoubtedly  best 
for  such  a  thing  to  happen  just  as  it  did  —  if  such  things 
must  happen  —  for  she  now  felt  more  resolved  than  ever 
to  be  her  own  agent.  "  Mrs.  Leadbetter,"  she  thought, 
"  is  the  world,  or,  at  least,  a  representative  of  part  of 
it  —  that  part  of  it  which  must  be  compelled,  and  not 
cringed  to." 

So,  at  the  counter  of  the  bank,  where  she  had 
expected  to  become  confused  and  tremble,  she  did 
neither,  as  she  demanded  and  received  a  statement  of 
Mrs.  Clayton's  account.  When  Amelia  entered,  busy 
merchants  gravely  made  way  for  her;  and,  while  she 
waited,  the  clerks  behind  the  desks  paused  in  their 
writing,  and,  unobserved,  stared  and  admired  and  wor- 
shipped in  silence.  The  business  of  the  great  bank  was, 
for  a  moment,  suspended.  Such  catastrophes,  indeed,  are 
liable  to  come  upon  the  most  responsible  of  financial 
houses  ;  for,  it  is  feared,  the  exchange  on  grace  and  love- 
liness will  never  be  fixed. 


262  GLOVERSON 

Now  it  happened  that  Mr.  Andrew  Gloverson  —  that 
wicked  old  bachelor  —  was  just  on  his  way  into  the  back 
room,  to  have  a  little  friendly  chat  with  the  bank-presi- 
dent, as  Amelia  turned  to  go  out.  Before  he  left  the 
sidewalk,  Mr.  Gloverson  had  removed  his  hat  to  wipe 
the  perspiration  from  the  bald  spot  on  the  top  of  his 
head.  On  suddenly  discovering  a  lovely  apparition  ap- 
proaching in  the  narrow  passage,  between  the  counter 
and  the  wall,  Mr.  Gloverson  bustled  his  portly  frame, 
with  precipitate  emphasis,  against  the  wall,  and  presented 
arms,  as  it  were,  with  his  hat,  till  Amelia  had  passed. 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Gloverson,  when  she  had  dis- 
appeared, "  I'll  be  d !  No,  I  won't ;  I  won't  swear 

about  such  an  angel.  It  isn't  the  thing  ! "  —  catching 
his  breath,  and  approaching  a  chair  in  the  president's 
office  ;  then  pausing,  "  Wasn't  she  lovely,  though  !  I'll 
be  —  No,  no,  I  won't.  She's  an  angel,  and  I  won't 
swear  about  her,  I'll  be  d d  if  I  do  ! "  and  Mr.  Glov- 
erson came  down  rather  heavily  into  the  chair,  before 
which  he  had  been  gesticulating. 

About  an  hour  later  in  the  day,  Mr.  Archibald  Bean- 
son  was  startled  by  a  note  being  handed  to  him,  at  his 
room  in  Montgomery  Block.  Mr.  Beanson  was  not  only 
startled,  but  terrified.  This  was  the  month  on  which  he 
was  confining  himself  to  one  meal  a  day.  The  envelope, 
which  he  saw  coming  toward  him,  could  contain  nothing 
but  an  unexpected  dun  —  for  he  did  not  remember  ever 
to  have  seen  the  bearer  before  —  or,  what  was  worse, 
some  sudden  assessment  on  his  one  share  in  the  "  Epam- 
inondas  Gold,  Silver,  and  Copper  Mining  Company." 

Mr.  Beanson  opened  the  enclosure,  and  read  a  request 
that  he  would  be  pleased  to  signify  to  the  bearer,  when 
he  would  call  upon  Miss  Clayton. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  263 

John,  the  coachman,  stood  respectfully,  with  his  hat  in 
his  hand,  waiting  for  his  answer,  and  saw  that  Mr. 
Beanson's  hand  trembled,  while  he  read  the  note  ;  and 
John,  who  had  no  favorable  opinion  of  "  la-yers,"  in 
general,  or  of  any  one  in  particular,  whom  he  supposed 
to  have  any  hand  in  the  misfortunes  of  his  young  mis- 
tress, observed,  furthermore,  that  Mr.  Beanson  changed 
color  when  he  had  finished  reading  the  note. 

"  Look  here,  sir ! "  said  Archibald,  having  consider- 
ably exerted  his  talent  at  apprehending  evil,  and  looking 
with  much  fierceness  into  the  coachman's  face.  "This 
is  some  more  of  that  old  hag's  breach  of  promise  case. 
I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Miss  Clayton  scarcely 
knows  me  at  all.  Did  Miss  Clayton  write  this  ?  " 

"  If  ye  call  my  young  misses  an  auld  hag,  sur,  agen  sur, 
or  accuse  her  of  writing  a  lie,  I'll  break  avery  blame 
bone  in  yer  body,  sur,  though  ye  air  a  la-yer,  and  have 
me  hanged,  sur."  The  gestures,  with  which  John  had 
delivered  the  foregoing,  were  right  under  Mr.  Beanson's 
nose,  and  were,  to  say  the  least,  intensely  belligerent. 

"  Oh  !  then  Miss  Clayton  did  send  you  —  did  she  ?  " 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  walking,  immigratin'  lie,  sur  ? " 

To  tell  the  truth,  it  was  John's  look,  taken  in  connec- 
tion with  his  stalwart  form,  that  had  caused  the  appre- 
hensive Archibald  to  modify  his  tone. 

"I  believe,  sir,"  observed  Mr.  Beanson,  mildly,  "  that 
you  are  telling  the  truth." 

"  Och  !  ye  do  —  do  ye  ?  Well,  I  say  my  young 
misses  is  not  an  auld  hag,  sur.  Come,  sur,  is  that  the 
trooth,  too  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir,  by  all  means." 

"  Thin  ye'd  better ! "  and  John,  shaking  his  head,  and 
regarding  Mr.  Beanson'  from  the  corners  of  his  eyes, 
withdrew  to  his  former  position  by  the  door. 


264  GLOVERSON 

"  Tell  Miss  Clayton  that  I  will  be  there  in  a  half  hour's 
time.  That  is  as  soon  as  my  business  will  allow.  By 
the  way,  my  good  fellow,"  said  Archibald,  detaining  the 
coachman,  who  had  opened  the  door,  "  it  was  all  a  mis- 
take of  mine.  You  will  of  course  say  nothing  more  about 
it  to  any  one.  I  thought  it  was  the  business  of  that  other 
lady,  Miss  —  Miss,  what's  her  name  ?  " 

"  Miss  Gi-arr,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Garr.     Well,"  — 

"  Ginerally  spaking,  sur,"  interposed  John,  who  wanted 
to  be  polite,  though  firm,  "  ginerally  spaking.  sur,  I  takes 
it  an  insult  for  Miss  Am  alia  to  be  mistaken  for  Miss 
Gi-arr  —  bad  'cess  to  the  latter." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  there  in  half  an  hour,  without  fail,"  re- 
sumed Mr.  Bean  son,  blandly  ;  "  I  suppose  it  is  all  right 
between  us  now  ?  " 

Mr.  Beanson's  features  had,  meantime,  assumed  their 
customary  aged  repose. 

Seeing  which,  John  replied,  "  Oh !  yes,  sur ;  I  feel 
somehow,  sur,  as  if  I'd  bin  goin'  to-  sthrike  my  father. 
Ye'll  pardon  me,  I'm  sure,  sur.  I'll  say  nothing  about 
it,  nor  would  I,  sur,  if  —  if,  bein'  as  ye're  a  la-yer,  sur, 
if_if"_ 

"  Come,  come,  my  good  man,  out  with  it !  I  will  do 
anything  in  the  law  line  to  serve  you." 

"  Couldn't  ye  then,  sur,  jist  have  that  auld  divil's  widow 
of  a  Miss  Gi-arr  hanged,  if  ye  plase  ?  " 

"  Believe  me,  my  good  man,  nothing  would  afford  me 
more  pleasure." 

Whereupon  John  approached  Mr.  Beanson,  and  clasp- 
ing him  wildly  by  the  hand,  assured  him  that  he  had 
gained  "  a  friend  for  life,  sur."  Then  John  hastened 
back  to  his  mistress,  leaving  Archibald  to  attend  to  that 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  265 

important  business  which  should  engross  the  next  half 
hour. 

The  important  business  aforesaid  was  nothing  more 
or  less  than  the  making  of  Mr.  Beanson's  toilet,  which 
Mr.  Beanson  proceeded  to  do  in  the  following  order : 
First,  he  turned  his  paper  collar  wrong  side  out,  substi- 
tuting also  a  more  ample  cravat,  which  should  effectually 
conceal  the  bosom  of  his  woollen  shirt.  Having  thus 
changed  his  linen,  he  proceeded  to  sponge  his  thread- 
bare coat  and  put  it  on.  Then,  a  sudden  thought  struck 
him,  and  he  began  hastily  to  sew  up  the  lining  at  the 
bottoms  of  his  best  and  only  pantaloons.  This,  of  course, 
necessitated  the  removal  of  a  certain  very  important  part 
of  Mr.  Beanson's  attire,  not  however— with  haste  and 
pleasure  be  it  stated  —  his  coat,  vest,  cravat,  and  collar. 
Was  it  not  some  German  who  said  that  a  philosopher  is  not 
a  philosopher  from  the  waist  down  ?  As  Mr.  Beanson  sat 
thus  stitching  away,  about  equally  at  his  own  fingers  and 
at  the  perverse  lining  of  his  trousers,  his  careful  toilet 
terminating  well  nigh  at  the  natural  limits  of  philosophy 
—  why,  Mr.  Beanson  undoubtedly  presented  a  striking 
picture ;  of  which,  indeed,  the  merit  was  not  a  little 
enhanced  by  the  modesty  with  which  that  astute  juris- 
consult had  draped  and  concealed  the  philosopher. 

Apprehension  of  evil  was  not  the  talent  he  was  now 
using.  Hope  was  to  him  a  swift-winged  Mercury  —  no 
longer  the  god  of  thieves.  Were  not  the  Claytons  ruined  ? 
Lang  must  have  refused  to  make  good  his  marriage  en- 
gagement. It  was  the  first  brief  at  last  (here  Mr.  Bean- 
son  pulled  on  his  trousers).  No  doubt  of  that.  But 
then  if  he  should  win  the  case  (Breach  of  promise  ;  Clay- 
ton v.  Lang),  who  could  tell  but  that  he  might  marry  the 
plaintiff  and  use  the  damages  recovered  to  make  his  first 
political  steps  toward  the  Presidency. 


266  GLOVERSON 

"  Well,  there  !  " 

This  latter  was  the  exclamation  that  Mr.  Beanson 
made,  when  at  this  stage  of  his  revery  he  discovered  that 
he  had  emptied  the  entire  contents  of  his  bottle  of  "  Fra- 
grant Bear's  Oil  "  upon  his  red  head.  A  hasty  applica- 
tion of  a  towel,  however,  saved  the  only  paper  collar  of 
Mr.  Beanson  from  utter  ruin. 

Having  at  last,  after  much  consultation,  the  authority 
of  his  piece  of  looking-glass  for  considering  his  toilet 
complete,  Archibald  set  out  for  Folsom  Street,  whistling 
as  he  went,  "  See  the  Conquering  Hero  Comes  !  "  After 
marching  thus  to  his  own  music  for  three  or  four  blocks, 
it  occurred  to  Mr.  Beanson  that  he  might  tell  the  story 
of  his  upsetting  the  "  Bear's  Oil,"  in  his  haste  to  serve 
Miss  Clayton.  This,  he  argued,  would  be  a  natural  intro- 
duction to  business,  besides,  with  a  little  previous  study, 
and  with  the  addition  of  a  well-contrived  witticism,  it 
might  at  once  impress  the  young  lady  with  his  mental 
quickness  and  brilliancy.  So,  all  the  rest  of  his  journey, 
Archibald  racked  his  brains,  turning  over  and  over  the 
details  of  his  own  case,  and  the  possible  analogy  of  Elijah's 
bald  head  being  saved  by  bears  ;  but  to  have  rescued  his 
own  bones  from  a  worse  fate  than  overtook  the  forty 
children,  he  could  not  hit  upon  anything  that  suited  him. 
He  finally  abandoned  the  idea  in  despair.  "  No,  no,  I 
must  trust  exclusively  to  my  legal  knowledge,  and,"  Mr. 
Beanson  added  to  himself,  buttoning  the  last  button  on 
his  threadbare  coat,  "  and  to  my  —  to  my  personal  ap- 
pearance." 

So,  after  all  his  preparation,  Mr.  Beanson  was  ushered 
into  the  parlor  of  the  elegant  house,  feeling  more  con- 
fused and  looking  more  stupid  and  care-worn  than  ever 
before,  in  all  the  uncertain  years  of  his  unfortunate 
career. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  267 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  come,  Mr.  Beanson,"  said 
Amelia,  offering  him  a  chair. 

«  Yes  —  I  mean  no,  Miss  Clayton,"  and  Archibald  was 
seated,  assuming  the  straight  position  of  the  old  Egyp- 
tian statues  in  the  British  Museum,  his  hands  luckily 
concealing  the  worn  places  on  the  knees  of  his  seedy 
pantaloons. 

"  Our  affairs,"  continued  Amelia,  with  a  sigh,  "  are  in  a 
sad  state." 

"  Sad,  indeed,  Miss  Clayton,  and  if  I  could  do  anything 
for  you  in  the  legal  line,  Miss  Clayton,  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  gladly  I  would  serve  you." 

"  But  are  you  not  bound  to  Mr.  Lang  ?  " 

"  No,  Miss  Clayton,  not  professionally,  or  I  think  in 
any  way.  I  am  not  Mr.  Lang's  attorney.  I  have  only 
done  the  notary  business,  in  the  sale  of  the  property." 

"  Then  you  can  tell  me  how  much  is  sold  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Clayton,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  all  is  sold 
—  all  is  sold." 

"  But  what  right  had  Mr.  Lang  to  sell  all  of  the  prop- 
erty —  especially  my  part  ?  " 

"  Your  own  written  and  acknowledged  full  power  of 
attorney." 

"  Who  gave  him  such  powers  ?  " 

"  You,  Miss  Clayton." 

"  Why,  that  was  not  what  mother  signed  before  you, 
and  that  is  not  how  you  explained  it." 

"True,  Miss  Clayton,  but  you  remember  I  was  re- 
quested not  to  go  into  the  full  particulars.  I  certainly 
thought  you  understood  all.  Mrs.  Clayton  signed  and 
acknowledged  a  general  power  of  attorney  sometime 
afterwards.  It  was  a  special  power  of  attorney  that  was 
explained,  and  that  she  signed  before  you.  The  one 


268  GLOVERSON 

that  you  executed  was  a  general,  or  full  power  of  at- 
torney." 

Amelia  here  changed  color,  and,  without  knowing  it, 
bit  her  lip.  She  had  not  forgotten  the  threats  of  Lang, 
and  she  now  saw  very  clearly  what  they  meant.  <k  Do 
you  know,  Mr.  Beanson,"  she  said,  with  forced  delibera- 
tion, "  I  believe  that  there  has  been  a  glaring  fraud 
here  ?  " 

Mr.  Beanson,  who  had  been  congratulating  himself 
upon  having  got  along  so  nicely,  never  before  having  felt 
so  much  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  a  lady,  now  made  a 
quick  start,  and  sat  up  straighter  than  ever  in  his  chair. 
"  It  is  quite  possible,  Miss  Clayton,"  for  the  idea  had 
finally  stricken  him,  too,  "  but  —  but  Miss  Clayton,  Mr. 
Lang  has  conducted  everything  strictly  according  to  law. 
I  fear  there  is  little  hope  —  unless,  perhaps,  you  would 
choose  to  sue  for  —  to  sue  "  — 

"  Anything,  Mr.  Beanson,  that  will  expose  the  villainy, 
and  restore  us  our  own." 

Archibald  had  changed  his  mind  in  the  presence  of  so 
much  simple  dignity,  and  elegance,  and  beauty.  Some 
of  the  wild  thoughts  that  he  had  entertained  while  mak- 
ing his  toilet,  began  to  seem  incongruous,  even  to  his  own 
incongruous  mind.  He  was  conscious  of  something  like 
a  reverence  for  Amelia.  This  is  why  he  began  to  hesi- 
tate, and  was  now  positively  silent. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  suggest  ? "  said  Miss  Clay- 
ton, anxiously. 

"I  had  thought  —  that  —  probably — that  the  surest 
way  of  reaching  Mr.  Lang  would  be  to  —  make  him 
suffer  for  his  villainy  in  damages  —  in  a  suit  for  — 
for"  — 

"  Well,  what,  Mr.  Beanson  ?     Probably  I  can  under- 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  269 

stand  you,  or  if  not,  you  can  explain  the  technical  terms 
afterward.'* 

**  For  —  for  breach  of  promise !  "  faltered  Archibald. 

Amelia  reddened  instantly.  "  Nothing  of  the  kind,  sir. 
There  was  never  an  engagement  between  us." 

Mr.  Beanson  now  looked  more  like  the  Egyptian 
statue  than  ever.  A  moment  of  silence  elapsed. 

"  Mr.  Beanson,"  at  length  began  Amelia,  in  a  voice 
that  had  an  effect  on  his  nerves  like  brushing  his  hair 
with  a  soft  brush,  it  seemed  to  vibrate  so  about  the  roots 
of  that  gentleman's  ruddy  locks  —  "  Mr.  Beanson,  I  know 
that  I  am  young  in  the  world  and  inexperienced ;  and  I 
here  make  my  first  business  decision  in  concluding  that 
you  are  an  honest  man,  and  I  believe  you  will  not  prove 
me  wrong.  I  have  just  returned  from  my  mother's  bank- 
er's. I  find  that  we  have  a  balance  there  of  thirteen 
hundred  and  forty  dollars.  That,  I  suppose,  is  our  all 
on  earth.  I  -see  that  the  world  has  not  used  you  very 
kindly.  Here  is  a  check  for  the  forty  dollars.  When 
you  look  upon  the  wretched  signature  that  my  poor 
prostrate  mother  has  made  such  an  effort  to  sign  for 
you,  you  may  be  reminded  how  helpless  are  those  who 
are  trusting  themselves  to  your  honesty." 

The  Egyptian  statue  did  not  move. 

"  Take  it,  Mr.  Beanson,  and  use  it  on  yourself.  As 
much  of  the  remaining  sum  as  we  can  possibly  spare  we 
will  devote  to  the  exposure  of  this  wretched  fraud.  Em- 
ploy the  best  counsel  you  can  ;  unravel  the  matter 
thoroughly  ;  and  you  shall  have  no  reason  to  regret  it." 

There  was  something  like  a  subterranean  noise  heard 
somewhere  about  Mr.  Beanson's  throat,  and  a  large  tear, 
falling  from  his  eyelash,  glanced  from  his  nose. 

"  Kee  —  keep  it,  Miss  Clayton,  till  I  have  done  some- 


270  GLOVERSON 

thing  for  you.     You  —  you  would  make  an  honest  man 
of  a  rogue.     I  —  I  can't  take  it  till  I  have  earned  it.     I 

o 

never  refused  money  before ! " 

"  And  you  shall  not  now,"  rejoined  Amelia,  placing  the 
check  in  his  hand. 

"  Please,  Miss  Clayton  "  — 

"  Come,  you  would  not  offend  me  at  the  start." 

Archibald  could  not  disobey  a  command  ;  he  could  not 
promise  what  he  would  do —  in  short,  all  power  of  utter- 
ance had  left  him,  and,  stumbling  finally  to  the  door  and 
opening  it,  he,  came  in  violent  collision  with  Miss  Garr, 
who  may  have  been  listening,  but  who  immediately 
screamed,  and  then  told  Amelia  that  her  mother  had  just 
sent  for  her. 

It  was  undoubtedly  the  happiest  epoch  of  Mr.  Beanson's 
life.  He  dined  that  day  at  Martin's,  where  he  drank 
gratefully  to  the  health  of  Amelia  and  to  the  suc- 
cess of  his  first  brief. 

Whatever  Miss  Garr  was  doing  at  the  parlor  door  at 
the  eventful  time  when  she  received  a  severe  contusion 
on  her  upper  lip,  it  is  certain  that  her  uneasiness  and 
suspicion  were  strengthened  by  the  strange  conduct  of 
which  Amelia  was  guilty  on  that  very  night. 

At  about  half-past  ten,  Miss  Garr's  attention  was 
aroused  by  steps  proceeding  from  Mrs.  Clayton's  to 
Amelia's  room.  Supposing  that  the  weary  girl  was  going 
to  retire,  Sophia  proceeded  with  her  employment,  namely, 
writing  letters  on  her  monogrammed  paper. 

Finally,  Miss  Garr  having  acquainted  all  of  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton's early  friends  in  the  State  of  Maine  that  the 
Claytons  were  now  beggars,  looked  up,  and  was  sur- 
prised to  find  the  light  still  in  Amelia's  chamber.  Then 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  271 

Miss  Garr  looked  at  her  watch,  and  was  shocked  to  find 
that  it  was  half-past  eleven  o'clock.  All  her  little  evil 
half-drawn  conclusions  became  facts  instantly.  Of  course 
that  wretch  of  a  red-headed  pettifogger  was  an  accomplice 
of  Dixon's,  and  to-night  was  the  one  chosen  for  the  long- 
expected  elopement.  Miss  Garr  did  not  care  to  prevent 
it,  but  witness  it  she  must.  So,  laying  down  her  pen, 
Sophia  crept  stealthily  across  the  hall,  and  listened  at 
Amelia's  door.  The  light  burning  and  no  sound  within  ? 
What,  she  must  have  gone  already  ! 

Miss  Garr  first  thought  of  an  excuse  for  coming  to  the 
door  in  case  one  should  be  needed  ;  and  lit  quickly  upon 
the  very  natural  one,  that  she  had  seen  the  light  shining 
through  the  ventilator,  and  feared  that  Amelia  had 
dropped  asleep  with  fatigue,  forgetting  to  extinguish  it. 
Thus  fortified,  Miss  Garr  knocked,  but  —  received  no 
answer. 

"  Good  heavens !  Gone  already  !  "  thought  Sophia,  as 
she  gently  pushed  the  door  open.  Then  Miss  Sophia 
stared  in  speechless  amazement. 

.  At  the  head  of  the  bed  was  the  form  of  Amelia,  with 
her  long  brown  hair  disheveled,  her  face  buried  in  the 
pillow,  her  body  bent  and  prostrate,  and  her  soul  — 
buried,  bent,  and  prostrate,  in  earnest  supplication  before 
the  throne  of  Him  who  tries  all  hearts  —  and  comforts 
them. 

Amelia  did  not  hear  the  door  open. 

"  Well,  I  never ! "  gasped  Miss  Garr,  closing  it  and 
hastening  back  across  the  dark,  silent  hall  to  her  own 
room,  where  she  went  to  bed  instantly,  covering  up  her 
head  as  if  she  had  seen  a  ghost. 


272  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN    THE    LISTS. 

IT  was  on  a  bright  forenoon,  after  exchange  hour, 
when  Mr.  Shallop,  having  made  his  usual  call  at  the  ele- 
gant house,  bore  away  the  cheerful  intelligence  that  Mrs. 
Clayton  was  able  to  sit  up  in  her  own  room. 

Only  the  day  before,  Mr.  Beanson  had  made  his  first 
report  on  the  success  of  his  investigations,  and  it  was 
anything  but  encouraging ;  yet  Amelia  felt  more  hopeful, 
now,  than  she  had  at  any  time  since  the  catastrophe. 
The  balm  of  the  gk  rious  morning,  and  the  good  news 
from  her  mother  that  came  with  it,  seemed  to  have  grown 
together,  somehow, -into  one  feeling  of  gratitude.  There 
is,  perhaps,  a  certain  heroic  poetry  in  youth  and  health, 
that  the  minstrels  have  never  sung. 

As  she  sat  and  looked  out  upon  the  lawn,  through  the 
same  window  at  which  she  had  sat  on  the  eventful 
evening  when  she  had  last  seen  Amos,  it  may  be  that 
Amelia  allowed  her  thoughts  to  dwell  momentarily  on  a 
subject  which  the  minstrels  and  minnesingers  have  worn 
to  atoms.  If  she  did,  it  was  not  in  the^  sentimental 
strain  of  old  Guillaume  de  Lorris,  or  Christian  von 
Hamle.  She  merely  thought  she  would  like  to  have 
some  one  near  her  who  was  simple  and  honest,  after  the 
experience  of  so  much  deceit  and  villainy  —  something 
strong*  to  lean  upon  in  the  general  shipwreck.  Then  she 
assured  herself  she  would  have  sent  for  such  a  one  long 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  273 

ago  and  warned  him  of  the  threats  that  had  been  made 
against  him  —  if  the  misfortune  had  not  come.  Now, 
she  might  be  misunderstood  ;  besides,  this  was  not  the 
proper  time  for  such  thoughts.  She  must  help  herself, 
and  Heaven  would  help  her.  Had  not  Heaven  already 
heard  her  ? 

"  Miss  Garr,"  said  Amelia,  continuing  a  conversation 
they  had  had  at  breakfast,  "  I  have  resolved  to  try." 

"  Laws  !  Amelia.  Go  to  teaching  school !  What  will 
the  world  think  ?  They  will  call  it  so  vulgar." 

"  Miss  Garr,  you  are  the  last  one  who  should  say  such 
things  about  what  has  been  the  honorable  employment 
of  the  greater  part  of  your  life." 

"  Why,  one  would  actually  think  it  was  necessary ;  as 
if  the  furniture  of  this  rich  house  were  not  ours  —  I 
mean  yours  and  your  mother's." 

"  It  is  necessary.  The  lawyers  tell  us  to  prepare  for 
the  worst.  We  may  have  to  leave  this  house  in  nine 
weeks  from  to-day." 

"  Just  to  think  of  it ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Sophia,  who 
never  did  think  of  it,  without  becoming  angry.  "  Dear 
Amelia,  I  will  be  back  in  a  moment." 

Miss  Garr  proceeded  to  Mrs.  Clayton's  room,  and,  sup- 
pressing as  much  of  her  wrath  as  possible,  took  a  round- 
about wtiy  of  asking  her  old  friend  from  the  State  of 
Maine,  when  the  monthly  stipend  would  cease  to  be  paid. 

"  This  must  be  the  last  month,  Sophia,  unless  matters 
mend." 

"  There  is  the  furniture,  you  know,  Mrs.  Clayton,"  in- 
sinuated the  old  friend. 

f  "  Yes,  but  we  must  live  on  that,  till  that  willful  girl,  — 
but  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  scold  her,  now, 
Sophia." 

18 


274  GLOVERSON 

Miss  Garr  arose  to  go,  angrier  than  ever.  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton stopped  her  at  the  door,  with  these  words :  "  I  see 
that  you  are  grieved  at  the  thought  of  parting  with  us, 
and  I  have  grown  to  regard  you  so,  dear  Sophia,  that  I 
hope  you  will  consent  still  to  remain  with  us,  and  share 
what  little  is  left." 

"  I  think  I  shall  always  board  with  you,  Mrs.  Clayton," 
was  Miss  Garr's  tender  response,  as  she  closed  the  door 
behind  her  and  hastened  back  to  Amelia. 

"  Well,  well,"  sighed  Sophia,  "  after  thinking  it  over  in 
my  own  room,  Amelia  dear,  I  come  to  conclude  that  you 
are  right.  Let  us  go  and  see  about  it  right  away." 

"  Where  shall  we  go,  and  what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  To  the  Rooms  of  the  Board  of  Education,"  replied 
the  experienced  Sophia ;  and  to  those  "  Rooms  "  they 
went. 

In  a  great  building  at  Paris,  there  is  a  hall  with  a 
checkered  marble  pavement,  where  litigants  walk  up  and 
down,  awaiting  the  decision  of  their  cases  in  law.  This 
is  called  "  The  Hall  of  Lost  Steps."  There  is  an  ante- 
room in  the  public  buildings  of  most  of  our  great  cities, 
where  inexperienced  girls,  thrown  for  the  first  time  on 
their  own  resources,  watch  and  wait  upon  the  beck  of 
that  great  man,  the  School  Superintendent.  Justice  here 
crushes  hope  out  of  young  hearts  and  old  ones,  just  as  it 
does  in  the  great  capital  —  only  we  do  not  call  this  ante- 
room "  The  Hall  of  Lost  Steps,"  or  of  lost  hopes,  or  by 
any  more  poetic  name  tha*n  that  of  "  The  Board  Rooms." 

There  were  no  vacancies  in  the  department,  at  that 
time,  but  there  might  be  one  at  any  moment,  said  the 
gracious  man  of  schools.  They  must  come  again.  The 
superintendent  would  be  glad  to  do  anything  he  could 
for  them.  They  came  again  and  again  and  again.  A 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  275 

vacancy  occurred  at  last.  Amelia  had  no  experience  in 
teaching ;  Sophia  had.  Amelia  had  no  certificate  ;  Miss 
Garr  had  innumerable  certificates.  The  school  was 
given  to  Miss  Sophia  Garr,  on  the  recommendation  of  the 
superintendent,  and  by  the  unanimous  approval  of  the 
whole  Board.  Amelia  was  kindly  advised  to  take  a 
school  in  the  country,  to  gain  experience,  and  wait  for 
the  regular  examinations ;  when,  if  she  were  deserving, 
a  certificate  would  be  awarded  to  her.  Then,  after  all 
the  experienced  applicants,  and  all  the  inexperienced 
personal  friends  of  the  Board  were  provided  for,  it  was 
probable  that  she  might  sometime  get  a  primary  school. 
This  was  Justice,  but  a  "  Hall  of  Lost  Steps,"  and  of 
lost  hopes,  and  crushed  hearts  led  to  it. 

Amelia  bethought  herself  of  a  new  field,  and  applied 
at  the  private  schools  for  a  situation  to  teach  music ;  but 
there  were  no  vacancies,  or,  where  one  was  expected  to 
occur,  her  inexperience  always  arose  up  before  her,  like 
a  Nemesis. 

This  fruitless  search  was  the  employment  with  which 
she  had  filled  up  the  hours  when  away  from  her  mother. 
It  was  undoubtedly  fortunate  for  Mrs.  Clayton's  recovery 
that  she  knew  nothing  more  about  these  late  efforts,  than 
that  Sophia  had  gone  to  teaching  again.  Mrs.  Clayton, 
in  fact,  was  not  fairly  awake  to  the  dire  reality  of  things, 
though  she  had  finally  so  far  recovered  her  precarious 
strength  as  to  come  down  to  the  parlor,  and  sit  in  an  easy 
chair.  Her  nervous  petulance  had  strangely  disappeared, 
and  a  certain  dreamy  listlessness  had  taken  its  place. 
The  shock  had  evidently  worked  some  powerful  change 
in  her,  and  the  anxious  tenderness  with  which  Amelia 
regarded  her  was  sad,  yet  beautiful  to  see. 

The   morning  of  her  mother's  reappearance   in   the 


276  GLOVERSON 

parlor  was  a  time  of  so  great  inward  rejoicing  for  Ame- 
lia, that  she  resolved  to  rest  one  day,  at  least,  from  the 
disheartening  search  after  employment.  Her  mother  had 
been  spared  to  her  through  all  —  and  it  seemed  so  long 
since  they  were  ruined  —  and  had  come  down  to  her 
usual  place  at  last.  This  should  be  a  holiday,  dedicated 
to  her  mother. 

When  Mr.  Shallop  communicated  the  news  about  Mrs. 
Clayton  that  morning,  a  visible  trepidation  passed  over 
the  frame  of  his  employer,  Mr.  Lang ;  but  it  did  not  last 
long,  and  business  proceeded  as  usual,  till  early  in  the 
afternoon.  Mr.  Lang  then  went  out,  saying  that  he 
might  not  be  back  again  that  day. 

After  a  late  lunch,  Amelia  and  her  mother  had  ven- 
tured on  the  lawn.  Mrs.  Clayton  soon  complained  of 
fatigue,  yet  was  loath  to  leave  the  sun  —  which,  at  any 
time  of  the  year,  is  a  grateful  guest  in  San  Francisco. 
Leaning  on  her  daughter's  arm,  she  had  been  led  to  a 
large  rustic  'seat,  protected  by  trees  from  the  light  after- 
noon wiiivl  of  that  early  season.  Here  they  sat  in  the 
cheerful  sunshine,  which  was  admitted  from  one  side  of 
the  little  inclosure.  Amelia  was  almost  happy  her- 
self at  the  apparent  happiness  of  her  mother.  As  they 
talked  pleasantly  together,  a  faint  thought  of  the  sad 
reality  would  sometimes  cast  a  momentary  shadow  across 
Mrs.  Clayton's  face,  but  Amelia,  seeing  it,  would  briskly 
begin  some  new  subject  that  would  restore  the  passive, 
listless  smile. 

Thus  the  daughter  was  spending  her  holiday,  dedicated 
to  her  mother  —  when  she  felt  a  sudden  sinking  of  the 
heart,  and  an  accompanying  chill,  as  if  the  air  about  her 
had  become  heavier  and  colder.  A  deep,  real  shadow 
rested  for  a  moment  on  the  rustic  seat,  just  between  her- 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  277 

self  and  her  mother.  She  gazed  first  at  her  parent's  face 
and  then  all  around  the  lawn,  but  the  shadow  was  gone ; 
and  Mrs.  Clayton  had  not  seen  or  felt  it,  for  she  talked 
on  in  the  same  quiet  strain. 

A  few  moments  afterwards,  a  servant  put  a  card  into 
Mrs.  Clayton's  hand,  and  announced  that  Mr.  Lang  was 
waiting  to  see  her  in  the  parlor. 

"  Will  you  go  with  me,  Amelia  ?  " 

"  No,  mother,  I  must  not." 

Amelia  assisted  Mrs.  Clayton  to  the  parlor  door,  and 
retired  to  her  own  apartment. 

The  interview  between  Mrs.  Clayton  and  Mr.  Lang 
was  a  long  one,  and  resulted  in  the  latter's  regaining  his 
complete  mastery  over  that  shattered  woman.  He  ex- 
plained to  her  that  he  had  been  well-nigh  ruined,  along 
with  her,  but  that  an  unexpected  rise  in  the  stock  of  the 
"  Green  Lion  "  had  so  far  placed  him  on  his  feet  again, 
that  he  could  yet  afford  Mrs.  Clayton  and  her  daughter 
an  affluent  support  —  "  if,"  said  Mr.  Lang,  "  I  only  had 
some  warrant  for  doing  so  —  something,  you  understand, 
to  stop  the  prattle  of  idle,  gossiping  tongues." 

Mrs.  Clayton  thought  she  understood  him. 

"  How  unreasonable,  then,  would  it  be  for  Amelia  to 
condemn  herself,  and  you,  her  indulgent  mother,  to  hope- 
less poverty." 

Mrs.  Clayton  was  silent. 

"  I  am  sure,  my  dear  madam,  I  would  not  make  her 
such  a  bad  husband." 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Lang,  you  have  always  had  my  con- 
sent, but  I  will  tell  you  candidly  that  I  have  never 
yet  succeeded  in  forcing  her  to  do  what  she  thinks  is 
wrong." 


278  GLOVERSON 

"  And  you  have  not  revoked  your  consent,  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton ?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Lang." 

"  Then  let  us  send  for  Amelia." 

<;  Mr.  Lang,  I  begin  to  feel  weak.  I  will  send  a  ser- 
vant to  you,  who  will  be  the  bearer  of  any  message  to 
my  daughter ;  but  you  will  permit  me  to  retire." 

"  Nothing  could  have  served  my  purposes  better," 
mused  Lang,  as  Mrs.  Clayton  withdrew. 

The  servant,  having  been  dispatched  by  the  broker, 
returned  with  an  answer,  —  "  Miss  Clayton  refuses  to 
see  Mr.  Lang !  " 

This,  certainly,  is  no  very  favorable  omen,  thought 
that  gentleman,  as  he  sat  alone  in  the  parlor,  still  de- 
taining the  servant.  "  Tell  her,"  said  he,  "  that  I  desire 
to  speak  to  her  a  moment,  on  business  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance to  herself,  and  all  she  holds  dear  to  her." 

The  servant  disappeared  again :  "  Dear  to  her.  dear 
to  her,"  repeated  Lang  to  himself,  and  a  feeling  of  deso- 
lation swept  over  him  like  a  simoom.  For  Lang  loved 
Amelia  —  loved  her  in  his  own  despite,  with  a  love  that 
waxed  as  his  hope  waned.  "  Dear  to  her,"  he  repeated 
once  more  ;  "  who's  dear  to  her  ?  "  and  the  broker  bowed 
his  head  as  if  to  let  the  simoom  pass  over  him. 

The  servant  reappeared.  "  Miss  Clayton  refers  Mr. 
Lang  to  her  lawyers,  who  now  conduct  all  the  business 
affairs  of  her  mother  and  herself.  Mr.  Lang  will  learn 
who  her  lawyers  are,  in  due  time." 

The  broker  started  impulsively  to  his  feet,  raised  his 
clenched  fist,  and  then,  suddenly  recovering  himself, 
said  to  the  servant,  "  Stay  a  moment.  Tell  Miss  Clay- 
ton that  it  is  her  mother's  request  and  command,  that 
she  should  come  to  the  parlor." 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  279 

When  the  servant  had  gone,  Lang  thought  to  himself 
that  he  had  gained  one  point  at  least.  He  had  learned 
that  the  law  was  on  his  track.  He  must  prepare  for  the 
defense.  Mrs.  Clayton  had  told  him  nothing  of  this,  and, 
upon  the  whole,  he  concluded  that  she  knew  nothing  of 
it.  It  smacked  too  much  of  that  determined  girl.  It 
was  all  Amelia's  doings ;  and,  strange  to  say,  Lang's  ad- 
miration of  her  was  increased,  by  the  conclusion  he  had 
come  to.  This  consciousness  of  danger,  too,  revived  him. 
He  had  reached  an  oasis. 

"  Where  is  my  mother  ?  " 

Lang  looked  up,  startled.  It  was  not  the  servant,  but 
Amelia,  who  had  opened  the  door. 

A  thrill  of  pleasure  passed  over  Lang,  which  he  had 
never  experienced  in  her  presence  before.  It  seemed 
years  since  he  had  seen  her.  Rising  as  soon  as  he  could, 
he  stepped  gracefully  toward  her  and  extended  his  hand 
—  a  movement  of  which  she  took  not  the  least  notice, 
but,  looking  about  the  room,  asked  again,  "  Where  is  my 
mother  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  replied  Lang,  "  that  Mrs.  Clayton, 
grieved  by  her  daughter's  strange  conduct,  has  retired  to 
her  own  apartment." 

"  Then  I  will  go  after  her." 

"  If  you  do,"  said  Lang  hastily,  "  you  will  bring  about 
a  relapse." 

Amelia  stopped  short,  and  held  counsel  with  herself 
for  a  few  instants.  Considering  all  the  circumstances,  as 
they  were  thus  presented  to  her  mind,  it  seemed  more 
than  probable  that  such  a  calamity  might  be  brought 
about  at  that  time.  Amelia  turned  quickly,  and  darted  a 
haughty  look  at  her  artful  persecutor.  Lang  winced, 
and  his  eyes  fell. 


280  GLOVERSON 

Miss  Clayton  seated  herself  in  the  chair  nearest  the 
door,  saying  coldly,  *'  I  am  constrained,  sir,  to  listen  to 
what  you  have  to  say." 

"  Miss  Clayton,"  faltered  Lang,  in  evident  embarrass- 
ment, "  I  seem  to  be  in  the  presence  of  an  unpropitious 
goddess.  Love  or  hate  never  goes  in  the  middle  things, 
as  they  say  in  Latin.  One  overrates  and  the  othei-  under- 
rates its  object.  Love  is  the  microscope  that  discovers 
an  inhabited  world,  in  a  drop  of  water  —  say  a  tear. 
Hate  is  the  telescope  through  which  a  crooked  philoso- 
phy, looking  backwards,  as  it  were,  from  the  stars,  dis- 
covers the  vast  earth  to  be  but  an  inhabited  drop  of 
water,  in  the  great  sea  of' creation.  Both  are  right,  and 
both  are  wrong  ;  and  I,"  concluded  the  broker,  uneasily, 
"  am  certainly  in  the  presence  of  an  angry  goddess." 

Before  Lang  had  got  half  through  this  studied  speech, 
he  saw  that  he  had,  in  his  embarrassment,  introduced  it 
in  the  wrong  place.  He  now  sat  cursing  his  awkward- 
ness, and  remembering  that  he  had  never  before  felt  so 
little  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  a  lady.  He  began,  more- 
over, to  look  upon  the  result  of  the  interview  with  appre- 
hension, which  was  not  dispelled  by  the  contemptuous 
manner  in  which  Amelia,  after  a  short  pause,  said  — 

"  Well,  sir,  was  it  to  hear  this  wild  talk  that  I  have 
been  well  nigh  dragged  here?  Is  this  the  important 
business  ?  " 

"  It  may,  Miss  Clayton,  have  some  remote  connection 
with  it,  but  I  must  confess,  I  was  talking  half  to  myself, 
explaining  thus  the  unexpected  coldness  of  my  reception 
here." 

"  Unexpected  ! "  repeated  Amelia.  "  What  else  could 
you  expect  in  this  house  ?  " 

"  Some  grateful  acknowledgment  for  having  periled  my 
fortune  to  save  yours  and  your  mother's.'" 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  281 

"  The  law,  sir,  will,  I  trust,  award  the  proper  guer- 
don to  such  chivalrous  knighthood.  In  the  mean  time,  I 
warn  you  I  shall  not  sit  here  much  longer.  I  must  know, 
without  further  delay,  what  your  business  is  with  me." 

"  It  is  to  restore  your  property  to  you." 

"  Which  acknowledges  that  you  have  taken  it  from  us." 

"  You  do  not  understand  me,  Miss  Clayton ;  I  mean 
to  say  that  my  business  here  now,  is  what  shall  be  the 
business  of  my  lifetime  —  to  restore  you  to  the  place 
from  which  fortune  has  cruelly  cast  you  down." 

"  No  more  of  this,  sir  !  Do  you  think  that  I  am  not 
aware  of  the  villainy  that  has  taken  away  my  worldly 
goods,  and  opened  my  eyes  to  its  hideous  self  ?  I  am 
not  cast  down,  sir.  I  am  elevated  by  the  very  contempt 
I  feel  for  you." 

"  And,  perhaps,  by  your  forgetfulness  and  disobedience 
of  your  mother's  wishes,"  interposed  Lang,  angry,  yet 
writhing  under  her  scorn. 

Amelia  turned  deadly  pale.  Lang  flattered  himself 
he  had  made  a  home  thrust,  for  she  did  not  speak.  He 
resolved  now  to  change  his  tactics. 

"  Miss  Clayton,"  said  he,  in  an  altered  tone, "  I  did  not 
come  here  to  quarrel  with  you ;  and,  indeed,  my  heart 
revolts  at  a  thing  so  foreign  to  its  utter  devotion  to  you 
and  yours.  I  am  sorry  that  I  was  forced  to  make  allu- 
sion to  the  known  wishes  of  your  noble,  long-suffering 
parent ;  but,  for  her  sake,  I  hope  you  will  weigh  well 
what  I  am  about  to  say.  You  are  both  poor  now  — 
hopelessly  poor.  I  am  rich,  rich  in  all  but  the  possession 
of  what  I  ask  —  beg  from  you.  Without  you  I  shall  be 
poorer  than  you  can  be.  I  would  give  all  I  have,  or  ever 
expect  to  have,  to  be  the  successful  beggar  at  your  feet. 
Certainly  you  are  laboring  under  some  false  impression. 


282  GLOVERSON 

Let  the  law  investigate  my  conduct,  and  then,  not  till 
then,  take  the  hand  that  is  offered  to  place  you  higher 
than  you  evjer  were  before,  and  the  heart  that  will  al- 
ways be  yours,  though  you  tread  upon  it  now,  or  wither 
it  with  your  mistaken  scorn." 

Lang's  voice  had  assumed  a  pleading  softness,  that  was 
a  stranger  even  to  himself,  for  he  was  then  translating 
the  only  worthy  passion  of  his  whole  life.  He  had  ceased 
to  doubt  whether  it  was  Amelia  or  her  property  he 
wanted.  He  had  the  latter,  and  the  utter  hopelessness 
of  gaining  the  former  had  driven  him  to  this  desperation. 
Flying  across  the  room,  he  threw  himself  at  her  feet. 

u  Therefore,  choose."  continued  Lang.  "  By  my  side, 
wealth  and  luxury  and  ease  ;  away  from  me,  poverty  and 
care,  and,  may  be,  disgrace.  Before  the  living  God,  I 
swear  to  you  that  I  love  you  better  than  you  ever  were 
or  can  be  loved.  Stand,  O  stand  between  me  and  the 
avenging  fates  of  my  own  despair." 

It  was  mingled  surprise  and  indignation  that  had  ren- 
dered Amelia  so  long  speechless.  Finally,  she  arose 
and  fled  to  the  door  of  the  back  parlor.  "Mr.  Lang," 
she  said,  turning  upon  him,  "  never,  never  come  into  my 
presence  again  !  That  is  the  kindest  thing  I  find  within 
my  heart  to  say  to  you." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Lang,  rising,  "  you  defy  my  anger 
and  your  mother's  too  ?  " 

"I  do,  sir.  I  know  not  what  power  you  have  over 
my  poor,  weak  mother,  but  I  fear  it  is  great,  and  I 
know  it  is  baneful.  But,  I  believe,  should  you  both  be 
arrayed  against  me,  Heaven  would  still  be  on  my  side. 
With  such  an  ally,  I  shall  be  neither  poor  nor  weak,  and 
never  disgraced." 

"  No,"  interposed  Lang,  with  a  hiss,  "  considering  who 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  283 

is  the  incarnate  deputy  here  on  earth.  Mrs.  Amos  Dixon 
may  not  be  poor  or  weak,  but  she  will  be  supremely 
ridiculous,  even  "  —  here  Lang's  black  eyes  looked  mur- 
der — "  even  if  she  has  the  good  fortune  to  be  left  a 
widow.  By  the  way,  your  clandestine  meetings  are  well 
known.  I  merely  allude  to  them  to  warn  you  to  a  little 
more  caution." 

"  I  scorn  you  and  your  insinuation,  as  Mr.  Dixon  must 
your  threats,"  retorted  Amelia,  opening  the  door  by 
which  she  had  paused ;  "  but,  let  me  say,  once  for  all, 
that  since  my  mother  has  no  right  to  wed  me  to  a  vil- 
lain, who  has  robbed  us  both,  if  you  and  she  persist, 
/  defy  you  both  !  Now,  sir,  so  help  me  Heaven,"  said 
Amelia,  raising  her  hand  above  her  head,  "  I  will  starve 
before  I  will  ever  disgrace  myself,  and  the  memory  of  my 
dead  father,  by  speaking  to  you  again  ! "  And  she  closed 
the  door  heavily  behind  her.  The  hollow  sound  that  it 
made  will  ring  in  the  broker's  ears  for  days  and  nights  to 
come. 

To  George  Lang  the  parlor  was  now  a  desert  indeed. 
The  simoom  again  swept  over  him,  and  he  was  smoth- 
ered and  choked  by  the  terrible  hot  sands.  He  could 
not  afterwards  tell  how  he  left  the  house,  which  he  was 
never  to  enter  again. 


284  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

UP   THE    STEEPS    WITH    GLOVERSON.     * 

"  DIXON,  sir ! "  said  Mr.  Gloverson,  in  his  counting- 
room,  one  afternoon,  as  Amos  was  about  closing  his  books 
for  the  day,  u  Dixon,  sir,  why  don't  you  get  married  ?  " 

If  a  hundred-pound  shot  had  seen  fit  to  go  with  a 
sudden  crash  through  the  window  above  his  head,  Mr. 
Dixon  would  not  have  been  more  taken  aback.  He 
changed  color  and  stared  at  his  employer. 

"  Dixon,  sir,  I  say,"  repeated  the  redoubtable  Andrew, 
and  there  was  an  indescribable  leer  in  his  eye,  "why 
don't  you  get  married  ?  " 

"  That  is  an  odd  question,  Mr.  Gloverson." 

"  Gad,  sir,  I'll  introduce  you  to  some  one  that'll  make 
you ! "  rejoined  Andrew,  with  a  manner  as  obscure  as  his 
speech. 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Gloverson  ?  " 

In  less  kindly  eyes  than  the  round  full  ones  now  bent 
upon  him,  Amos  at  that  moment  might  have  appeared 
very  like  a  young  man  whom  some  practical  parent  has 
inopportunely  discovered  with  an  arm  about  a  daughter's 
waist. 

The  sadness  that  soon  after  came  over  Dixon's  face 
might  have  been  mistaken,  on  the  same  theory,  for  peni- 
tence, out  of  which  had  grown  a  temporary  resolve  to 
use,  in  the  future  siege  of  the  aforesaid  young  lady's 
affections,  every  other  species  of  beleaguering  warfare, 
than  the  romantic  one  of  circumvallation. 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  285 

It  was  only  this  sadness,  however,  that  arrested  Mr. 
Gloverson's  attention.  "  Cheer  up,  Dixon,  sir,  ch'rup ! " 
said  the  kindly  old  gentleman.  "  Question's  not  odd  at 
all,  sir.  Why,  you  are  a  good-looking  fellow  —  getting 
better  looking  every  day.  Why,  sir,  I'll  be  —  sworn," 
substituted  Mr.  Gloverson,  considerately  deferring  the 
oath  till  it  should  be  demanded  of  him,  "yes,  sworn, 
sir,  that  you  are  almost  a  dandy,  sir,  almost  a  dandy ! " 
And  his  employer  regarded  with  no  little  pride  and  tri- 
umph the  elegant  set  of*Dixon's  clothing,  whilom  so 
wrinkled  and  seamed. 

Amos  also  glanced  at  his  attire  ;  but  it  was  anything 
but  a  consolation  to  him.  He  looked  upon  his  neatly  fit- 
ting garments  as  so  many  votive  offerings  made  to  Ame- 
lia, his  beautiful  saint,  who  had  nevertheless  permitted 
the  shipwreck. 

"  Now  look  here,  Dixon  !  "  resumed  Mr.  Gloverson, 
stepping  back  a  pace,  and  regarding  his  cashier  in  myste- 
rious silence. 

Amos,  after  waiting  vainly  for  his  employer  to  continue 
his  remarks,  finally  looked  up  and  returned  his  stare. 

Thereupon  Mr.  Gloverson.  stepped  as  straight  and  as 
close  up  to  Dixon  as  the  rotundity  of  one  of  their  per- 
sons would  conveniently  allow,"  and  tapping  him  quickly 
on  the  breast  with  the  fat  forefinger  of  his  right  hand, 
stopped  short,  and  regarded  the  surprised  cashier  with  an 
air  of  awful  mystery.  "  Strictly  confidential,  you  know, 
old  fellow ! "  at  length  said  Mr.  Gloverson  as  he  took  a 
step  backwards,  not  removing  his  eyes  from  those  of 
Amos. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Dixon,  "  I  hope  nothing  has  hap- 
pened." 

"  No  ;  nothing  has  happened,"  replied  Andrew,  for  the 


286  GLOVERSON 

first  time  letting  his  eyes  fall,  "  nothing  has  happened, 
but  —  but,  sir,  I  never  go  back  on  my  own  judgment. 
Something  is  going  to  happen." 

Mysterious  silence  again  reigned  in  the  counting-room. 

"  Now  look  here,  Dixon,"  finally  repeated  Mr.  Glover- 
son,  his  voice  breaking  in  spasmodically  upon  the  stillness 
of  the  apartment,  like  a  large  stone  upon  the  quiet  sur- 
face of  some  desolate  pond.  "  Now  look  here,  Dixon, 
sir ;  this  thing  is  strictly  confidential,  you  know,  old 
fellow!" 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Gloverson ;  but  you  frighten  me. 
"Why  do  you  hesitate  ?  Have  you,"  added  Amos  appre- 
hensively, "have  you  lost  confidence  in  me?" 

"  Dixon,  you  be  d — d.  You  know  better,  —  see  how 
you  have  interrupted  me.  I  would  have  got  it  out  long 
ago,  only  Dixon,  sir,  you  have  interrupted  me." 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir." 

"  No,  Dixon,  I  beg  yours.  I  interrupted  myself;  but, 
Dixon,  sir,  I  am  having  meetings,  sir,  meetings  !  " 

"  What  kind  of  meetings,  Mr.  Gloverson,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  Why,  meetings  with  somebody "  —  here  Andrew 
again  paused,  and,  regarding  his  employee  with  an  in- 
describable leer  and  tapping  himself  gallantly  on  the 
breast,  continued,  —  "  wi&i  somebody,  sir,  who  is  —  a 
lady!" 

Mr.  Gloverson  now  bustled  backwards  to  the  farthest 
end  of  the  counting-room,  and  again  took  a  deliberate 
observation  on  Amos  to  see  the  effect  pronounced  by 
this  wonderful  revelation. 

Mr.  Dixon  could  not  help  a  smile,  as  he  said,  — "  In 
this  evidently  delicate  matter,  Mr.  Gloverson,  what  part 
am  I  to  take  ?  " 

"  A  very  important  one,  Dixon,  a  very  important  one. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  287 

Serve  me  in  this  matter  and  you  will  be  serving  yourself. 
A  marriage  would  result  in  .the  happiness  of  us  both." 

"  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Gloverson,  any  assistance  that  I  can 
honorably  render  "  — 

"  Honorably  render  !  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  "  And 
the  portly  merchant  was  so  much  moved  that  he  paused 
to  catch  his  breath.  "  I  wish,  Dixon,  you  .fradn't  said  it. 
Somehow,  it  makes  me  feel  bad  ;  because,  Dixon,  because 
she  is  such  an  angel,  that  ever  since  you  said  it,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Gloverson  with  a  certain  feeling  gesture,  that 
will  make  itself  in  the  reader's  mind,  "  somewhere  about 
here,  you  know,  Dixon,  my  waistcoat  has  been  a  d — d 
bad  fit,  sir,  a  d— d  bad  fit." 

This  was  probably,  if  not  the  longest,  at  least  the  most 
pathetic  sentence  that  the  senior  partner  of  the  house  of 
Gloverson  &  Co.  had  ever  uttered  in  the  presence  of  the 
trusty  cashier.  To  the  credit  of  the  latter,  be  it  said, 
that  he  detected  the  golden  drift  beneath  these  incohe- 
rent pebbles  of  speech.  Amos  grasped  the  hand  of  his 
employer  as  soon  as  he  had  finished.  "  Mr.  Gloverson, 
I  heartily  beg  your  pardon  ;  I  was  thoughtless,  and  rude 
only  because  I  was  thoughtless.  It  was  the  merest  slip ; 
I  was  only  talking  my  usual  cant." 

"No,  Dixon,  no.  I  beg  yours,  rather,  /was  thought- 
less. I  didn't  tell  you  before  that  she  was  an  angel ;  and 
Dixon,  sir,  you  know  what  my  judgment  is." 

Then  lapsing  into  a  dreamy  silence,  Mr.  Gloverson 
was  for  some  moments,  to  all  appearance,  studying  the 
architecture  of  a  tin  box  of  papers,  on  whose  green  sides 
were  painted  "  G.  &  Co.  1859,"  in  white  letters.  This 
tin  box  was  on  a  high  shelf  in  the  counting-room,  and  to 
see  it,  it  was  necessary  for  Mr.  Gloverson  to  turn  his  face 
inconveniently  upwards  and  so  to  raise  his  eyes  that  only 
the  whites  of  them  could  be  seen  by  Amos. 


288  GLOVERSON 

To  whom  it  was  soon  evident  that  his  employer  was 
not  thinking  of  the  box  or  the  papers  at  all,  but  was  yet 
musing  on  the  subject  of  the  cashier's  thoughtless  re- 
mark. "  Dishonor,  Dixon,"  finally  said  Mr.  Gloverson, 
the  whites  of  his  eyes  still  visible,  "  Dishonor,  sir,  is  a 
word  that  I  never  use  in  speaking  of  women.  I  never 
did,  and  I  never  will !  " 

"  And  I  hope  I  never  may  again,  Mr.  Gloverson,  but  I 
must  confess,"  pursued  Amos,  endeavoring  to  change  the 
subject,  "  that  you  took  me  back,  at  first.  I  really 
thought  that  the  house  was  about  to  fail,  or  "  — 

"That's  it!  "  exclaimed  the  chivalrous  Andrew,  trans- 
ferring his  gaze  from  the  tin  box  to  Amos.  "  The  house 
will  fail  without  this  lady  in  it.  I  am  resolved  to  have 
her,  —  God  bless  her  —  a  member  of  this  firm,  a  sort 
of  silent  partner  —  I  mean,  a  guardian  angel,  you  know." 

The  idea  of  Mr.  Gloverson's  marriage  struck  Amos  as 
a  little  ridiculous,  but  he  nevertheless  grasped  the  chub- 
by hand  that  had  just  fallen  with  a  determined  gesture, 
and  wringing  it,  wished  the  youthful  Andrew  much  joy, 
and  so  forth,  and  so  forth. 

Whereat  Mr.  Gloverson's  under-jaw  fell  in  a  cataract 
of  surprise,  from  which  (or  from  somewhere  else)  a  mist 
seemed  to  rise  before  his  eyes,  for  he  wiped  them  with 
his  colored  silk  pocket-handkerchief,  and  looked  again 
and  again  at  Amos.  Then  Mr.  Gloverson's  under-jaw 
all  at  once  assumed  its  usual  place,  and  that  remarkable 
leer  of  his  overspread  his  entire  face.  So  brimful  of 
a  brilliant  thought,  and  so  intensified  was  this  remarkable 
leer  at  this  moment,  that  it  seemed  to  spread  beyond  the 
copious  borders  of  Mr.  Gloverson's  face,  even  to  the 
folds  of  Mr.  Gloverson's  collar  and  waistcoat. 

Whatever  this  sudden  brilliant  thought  of  Mr.  Glover- 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  289 

son's  was,  it  was  evidently  a  villainous  one,  for  he  appar- 
ently 'dared  not  communicate  it  to  his  honest  cashier. 
The  great  merchant  merely  looked  at  his  watch,  and  said, 
"  Come,  come,  sir,  it  is  time  for  the  meeting.  You  must 
go  with  me,  Dixon.  I  want '  to  introduce  you.  Come, 
sir,  why  do  you  delay  ?  A  sight  of  her  will  cheer  you 
up  for  a  month." 

Mr.  Gloverson  had  probably  spoken  truth,  if  he  and 
Amos  had  been  thinking  of  the  same  person  ;  for  the 
latter  gentleman  was  just  at  that  moment  wondering  why 
he  never  met  Amelia  Clayton  in  any  part  of  the  city. 

"  I  believe  you ! "  said  Amos,  and  then  he  blushed, 
having  as  he  supposed,  betrayed  his  own  thoughts.  Dis- 
covering, however,  that  he  had  not,  he  was  so  rejoiced 
that  he  consented  to  go  without  farther  parley  ;  and  the 
two  started  forth  arm  in  arm. 

It  was  a  remarkable  sight  to  see  these  gentlemen  to- 
gether at  any  time,  but  it  partook  more  than  ordinarily 
of  the  melodramatic,  as  they  reached  Montgomery 
Street,  and  Mr.  Gloverson  without  a  word  pulled  Amos 
in  the  direction  opposite  to  either  of  their  homes.  After 
awhile,  the  impulse  seemed  to  die  away,  and  the  obese 
Andrew  began  to  lean  ponderously  on  his  cashier.  This 
had  the  tendency  to  crush  out  the  reverie  to  which  Amos 
had  resigned  himself.  The  brilliant  thought  of  Mr. 
Gloverson,  before  alluded  to,  mus^t  have  weighed  him 
down,  for  he  was  becoming  very  heavy  and  short-winded. 
Under  the  pressure  of  so  much  reality,  Amos  looked 
about  him,  and  discovered  that  they  were  ascending 
Telegraph  Hill. 

After  toiling  up  some  time  in  silence,  Mr.  Gloverson 
paused  to  rest.  "  Do-don't  talk,"  said  he,  "  don't  talk 
a  word,  Dixon,  sir.  In  going  up  a  hill,  Dixon,  I  always 
19 


290  GLOVERSON 

find  talking  worse  than  walking,  on  the  brea-breath. 
For  my  part  I  wouldn't  climb  so,  if  I  were  not  going  up 
to  an  angel.  But  don't  —  talk  —  Dixon,  sir.  You  — 
you  —  ca-can't  get  your  breath,  if  you  do." 
.  This  admonition  was  altogether  superfluous :  for,  from 
that  time  till  they  had  reached  the  summit,  Mr.  Glover- 
son,  having  got  upon  the  subject  of  his  idolatry,  did  not 
give  Amos  the  least  chance  to  get  a  word  in,  except  it 
were  edgewise,  between  the  involuntary  failures  of  Mr. 
Gloverson's  breathing. 

Dixon,  however,  was  not  disposed  to  talk,  or,  indeed, 
to  listen.  He  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  strange 
sights  he  had  seen  on  those  very  rocks,  and  with  what 
foolish  mystery  he  had  connected  them  all  with  Amelia. 
He  thought  of  the  dream  at  Sonoma  ;  then  of  the  re- 
ality—  the  beckoning  figure,  whose  silvery  hair  had 
almost  touched  him,  as  it  swept  by  in  the  moonlight ; 
and  then  of  the  undefined  feeling,  so  woven  of  sorrow 
and  joy  —  the  inscrutable  link  between  these  dim  dreams 
and  an  assuring  reality  —  the  recognition  of  what  it  was 
impossible  to  have  seen  before  —  that  undefined  feeling, 
so  woven  of  sorrow  and  joy,  which,  that  last  evening  on 
these  cliffs,  he  had  so  fatally  mistaken  for  hope. 

They  passed  the  spot  where  the  figure  had  stood,  and, 
taking  a  by-path  to  the  left,  came  suddenly  upon  a  little 
one -story  house,  which  was  concealed  from  view  by  the 
cliffs  that  towered  on  one  side,  shutting  out  the  Bay,  but 
not  the  sea.  Mr.  Gloverson  knocked  at  the  door,  and 
walked  briskly  in.  The  little  house  had  evidently  only 
two  rooms.  In  the  front  one,  sat,  by  a  very  neat  bed,  an 
object  that  startled  Amos  more  than  he  had  ever  been 
startled  before  —  even  on  Telegraph  Hill.  It  was  not 
only  the  beckoning  figure  of  the  heights,  but,  as  the 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  291 

reader  has  known  all  along,  poor  old  Aunty  Owen.  The 
evening  on  which  he  came  so  near  recognizing  her,  Dix- 
on  had  seen  scarcely  anything  but  her  wild  eyes  and  the 
hair,  once  so  remarkably  dark  for  her  age,  now  white  as 
snow.  The  same  old  benevolent  face  was  what,  at  this 
moment,  recalled  her  to  him.  Her  eyes,  though  not  so 
wild  as  when  he  saw  them  in  the  moonlight,  were  still 
dreamy  and  unnatural. 

Mr.  Gloverson  had  too  much  to  do  in  gaining  his 
breath  to  take  any  notice  of  Dixon's  surprise.  As  soon 
as  Andrew  could  speak,  he  said  from  the  chair  into 
which  he  had  thrown  himself,  "  Aunty  Owen,  this  is 
Mr.  Dixon,  my  cashier ;  Mr.  Dixon,  Mrs.  Owen." 

The  old  lady  now  for  the  first  time  looking  up  from 
her  sewing,  trembled  just  a  little  on  discovering  a 
stranger  present.  "  Ah  ! "  then  looking  closer  into 
Amos's  face,  she  said  "  Oh  !  Henry  likes  you,  Henry 
likes  you,"  and  plied  her  needle  as  before.  Then  a 
strange  light  suddenly^filled  her  eyes,  as  she  asked  in  a 
half  whisper :  "  Was  it  a  gun  ?  There,  there  !  Henry 
is  coming !  No,  no,  it  wasn't ;  but  Henry  is  coming, 
Henry  is  coming,"  and  the  old  lady  sighed,  and  resumed 
her  sewing. 

Amos  was  struggling  to  speak. 

"  You  see,"  interposed  Mr.  Gloverson  quickly,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  the  poor  thing  thinks  her  son,  who  was  drowned, 
is  coming  home  on  every  steamer.  She  is  sewing  for 
him  now.  She  has  the  greatest  amount  of  clothing 
made  up  already,  and  —  and,  1  humor  her,"  said  Mr. 
Gloverson,  "  for  she  is  so  harmless." 

"  Aunty  Owen,"  Amos  asked  at  last,  "  don't  you  re- 
member me  ?  " 

Again   the   old  lady   gazed  into   his  face   and  said, 


292  GLOVERSON 

"  Henry  likes  you,  Henry  likes  you  ;  "  and  still  seated  by 
the  window  looking  toward  the  sea,  Aunty  Owen  re- 
sumed her  work,  adding  at  listless  intervals,  "  Henry  is 
coming,  Henry  is  coming  !  " 

"Then  you  knew  her  before,"  demanded  Mr.  Glover- 
son,  almost  as  much  surprised  as  Amos. 

u  Yes,  I  have  been  looking  for  her  for  many  and  many 
a  weary  month.  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  about  her  be- 
fore ?  " 

"  I  would  have  done  it,  Dixon,  only,  sir,  I  thought  you 
might  consider  me  vain." 

"  Vain,  Mr.  Gloverson  ?  " 

"  Yes,  vain." 

Amos  now,  by  a  series  of  questions,  extorted  from  Mr. 
Gloverson,  the  fact  that  he  had  discovered  the  old  lady  a 
day  or  so  after  the  news  of  her  boy's  loss  had  reached 
her,  and,  seeing  the  harmless  and  touching  nature  of  her 
mania,  rescued  her  himself  from  the  hands  of  the  law, 
and  provided  this  little  house  for  her.  "  For,  Dixon,  sir," 
concluded  Mr.  Gloverson,  "  she  wouldn't  live  a  day  in  an 
asylum.  Out  sight  of  the  sea  where  she  could  not  wave 
at  every  passing  steamer,  the  poor,  good  old  creature 
would  die,  Dixon,  sir  —  would  die." 

Mr.  Gloverson's  voice  grew  husky  before  he  closed ; 
and  Dixon  looked  away  through  the  window  at  the  dis- 
tant Pacific. 

The  old  woman  plied  her  needle  in  silence. 

"  Late  or  early,  Dixon,  sir,"  resumed  Mr.  Gloverson, 
after  a  short  pause,  "  night  or  day,  sunshine  or  storm,  at 
the  sound  of  a  gun  she  will  go  forth  upon  the  cliffs,  and 
wave  at  the  steamer  till  it  has  passed.  It's  her  only  com- 
fort, Dixon,  sir ;  so  she  has  done,  Dixon,  and  so  she  shall 
do,  through  as  many  of  the  long  years  as  God  shall  spare 
her." 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  293 

"  And  may  He  bless  you  for  it,  Mr.  Gloverson,"  said 
Amos  feelingly. 

"  Henry  is  coming,  Henry  is  coming,"  sighed  Aunty 
Owen,  in  her  listless  way. 

After  an  interval  of  silence,  Amos  suddenly  roused 
himself.  "  But,  Mr.  Gloverson,  how  could  you  have  joked 
upon  such  a  subject  ?  I  see  you  are  having  meetings,  as 
you  say,  but  you  never  can  intend  to  marry  this  unfortu- 
nate "  — 

"  Dixon,  you  be  d — d.  I  do  have  meetings,  sir." 
And  Gloverson  looked  impatiently  at  his  watch. 

"  What ! "  exclaimed  Amos,  "  is  this  not  the  lady  you 
meet  ?  " 

"  Why,  hem,  not  exactly,"  replied  Mr.  Gloverson,  and 
he  assumed  that  same  mysterious  leer  of  his,  "  not  exactly, 
Dixon,  sir,  but "  —  Here  Andrew's  two  hands  arose  in 
a  sort  of  convulsive  movement  of  surprise,  for  a  light 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door.  "That's  her!"  And  Mr. 
Gloverson  came  in  violent  collision  with  his  own  chair, 
as  he  hastened  to  do  the  honors. 

"  Ah  ! "  observed  the  gallant  Andrew,  "  how  do  you 
do  ?  "  closing  the  door  as  his  visitor  entered,  and 
putting  his  back  against  it,  for  support  in  the  presence 
of  the  object  of  so  much  reverence.  "  Ah !  "  again  ob- 
served the  gallant  Andrew,  "  Miss  Clayton,  allow  me  to 
present  to  you  my  trusted  friend  and  confidential  cashier, 
Mr. "  — 

The  sudden  falling  of  Mr,  Gloverson's  under-jaw 
brought  this  elaborate  oratory  to  an  unexpected  close. 

Mr.  Dixon,  having  vainly  attempted  to  rise,  had  sunk 
back  into  his  chair,  where  his  face  became  red  and  white 
by  turns ;  but  not  a  word  could  he  utter. 


294  GLOVERSON 

Mr.  Gloverson  turned  his  eyes  in  amazement  toward 
Amelia,  and,  seeing  that  she  seemed  greatly  moved, 
would  probably  have  dropped  down  on  the  spot  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  mutual  assistance  of  the  door  and  his 
own  back. 

"  Beg  pardon,  beg  pardon,  Miss.  I  should  have  asked 
your  permission  to  bring  him  here  ;  but  he  is  a  fine  fel- 
low, Miss  Clayton,  a  very  fine  fellow.  He  didn't  know 
anything  about  it.  It's  all  my  fault,  and  —  and'  it  is  — 
strictly  confidential,"  said  Mr.  Gloverson  in  his  embar- 
rassment. "  Forgive  me  this  time,  and  I'll  never  do  it 
again  ;  never,  I'll  be  d —  destroyed  if  I  do  ! " 

Thus  concluded  Andrew  Gloverson,  who  believed  him- 
self at  that  moment  the  wretchedest  of  criminals.  By  this 
time,  Amelia  had  so  far  recovered  from  her  surprise  as  to 
approach  Amos  and  take  his  hand. 

"  Will  you  ever  forgive  me,"  were  the  first  words  that 
Dixon  could  muster,  "  for  all  I  have  done  ?  I  could  not 
help  it." 

"  No,  no,"  chimed  in  Mr.  Gloverson,  "  he  couldn't  help 
it.  I  will  take  my  oath  that  it  was,  and  is  all  my  fault ; 
I  deceived  Dixon  ;  I  led  him  to  think  that  I  was  about  to 
marry.  It  was  a  brilliant  idea  of  mine,  but  a  wicked  one. 
I  haven't  thought  seriously  of  marriage  for  the  last  twenty- 
five  years.  Now,  upon  my  oath,"  concluded  Mr.  Glover- 
son, impressively,  "  Dixon  didn't  know  whom  he  was 
going  to  meet." 

"  Then  you  would  not  have  come  if  you  thought  you 
were  going  to  meet  me  ?  " 

"  To  meet  yen,  Miss  Clayton  ?  Why,  I  would  have 
gone  anywhere  to  ask  your  forgiveness.'' 

"  And  would  never  have  got  it  "  —  Amos  turned  deathly 
pale  —  "  because  you  have  never  offended  me." 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  295 

Amos  subsided  into  a  delirium  ^of  ineffable  joy;  and 
Amelia  went  and  spoke  kindly  to  Aunty  Owen.  Setting 
down  a  basket  which  she  had  borne  on  her  arm,  Amelia 
said,  "  Aunty,  we  will  look  at  these  things  directly,'*  and 
turned  her  attention  again  to  the  gentlemen. 

"  Mr.  Dixon,  I  have  wanted  to  see  you  so  much.  I 
have  so  much  to  say  to  you." 

"  And,  Miss  Clayton,  it  was  a  matter  of  life  and 
death,  and  they  would  not  let  me  see  you." 

This  conversation  began  to  be  unintelligible  to  Mr. 
Gloverson,  who  had  introduced  the  young  gentleman  and 
lady. 

Amelia  evidently  did  not  know  Karl  was  dead.  How 
should  Amos  break  it  to  her,  and  deliver  the  package, 
which,  as  has  been  before  said,  he  always  carried  about 
with  him  ? 

"  They  would  not  let  you  see  me  ?  When,  Mr. 
Dixon  ?  " 

"  When  "  —  Amos  hesitated.  That  was  evidently  not 
the  time  to  break  it  to  her,  —  "  when  last  I  was  obliged 
to  go,  after  you  had  —  had  so  kindly  intimated  to  me 
that  —  that  another  "  — 

<fc  It  was  all  a  mistake.  It  is  about  that  other  that  I 
want  to  warn  you,  Mr.  Dixon." 

This  conversation -was  becoming  more  and  more  unin- 
telligible to  Mr.  Gloverson,  who  rubbed  his  nose  eagerly, 
and  recollected  distinctly  that  he  had  introduced  the 
young  laety  and  gentleman  but  a  short  time  ago. 

"  He  is  a  villain  !  "  exclaimed  Amelia. 

In  his  confusion,  Mr.  Gloverson  thought  that  he  him- 
self might  be  here  meant.  At  least  he  started,  and  re- 
membered how  criminally  he  had  introduced  the  young 


296  GLOYRRSON 

lady  and  young  gentleman  but  a  moment  before,  without 
the  young  lady's  consent. 

"  Then  you  know  it,  too  ?  "  rejoined  Amos. 

"  That's  rather  bold  of  Dixon  !  What  can  this  mean  ?  " 
thought  Andrew  Gloverson. 

*•  Yes,  Mr.  Dixon,  he  is  a  villain,  and  has  as  much  as 
threatened  your  life." 

"  Dixon  be  d — d  !  "  thought  Mr.  Gloverson.  "  I 
wouldn't  touch  a  hair  in  his  head.  Come,  this  must  mean 
some  one  else  ! " 

"  Threatened  my  life  ?  "  repeated  Amos.  u  Tell  him,  if 
you  please,  that  I  do  not  fear  him." 

"I  shall  never  disgrace  myself  by  speaking  to  him 
again.  But  you  will,  Mr.  Dixon,  for  your  own  sake,  for 
this  kind  gentleman's  sake  —  whom  I  am  glad  to  learn  is 
your  employer  —  and,  may  I  add,  for  my  sake,  be  on 
your  guard.  I  have  wanted  to  warn  you  so  long." 

So  much  hope  had  now  broken  in  upon  Amos  that  he 
seemed  blinded  as  with  a  great  light.  lie  was  dimly 
conscious  of  having  forgotten  something.  He  made  one 
or  two  vain  efforts  to  recollect.  He  was  so  absorbed  in 
some  one  else,  that  he  could  not  for  the  moment  get  his 
mind  back  to  Karl  and  the  package. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  —  I'll  give  it  up,  Dixon,  sir,"  broke  forth 
Mr.  Gloverson  at  last,  "  didn't  I  introduce  you  to  Miss 
Clayton  a  few  moments  ago,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Gloverson,  but  I  was  introduced  to  her 
before,  though  the  acquaintance  had  been  broken  off"  — 

"  By  Mr.  Dixon,  through  an  unfortunate  misunder- 
standing of  his  own,"  interrupted  Amelia. 

More  delirium  for  Amos. 

"  Well,  Dixon,  sir,"  observed  Mr.  Gloverson,  throwing 
himself  back  in  his  chair,  "  isn't  she  an  angel  ?  " 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  297 

"  She  has  always  been  a  guardian  one  to  me  —  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Miss  Clayton,  I  did  not  mean  to  make  you 
blush." 

Amelia  had  commenced  unpacking  her  basket  and 
displaying  the  little  supplies  she  had  brought  for  Aunty 
Owen. 

"  A  perfect  angel ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Gloverson,  now 
more  and  more  relieved  from  the  surprise  that  had  been 
steadily  accumulating,  and  coming  into  his  natural  state 
of  admiration  and  even  reverence.  "A  perfect  angel, 
Dixon,  sir,  a  perfect  angel,  and  she  can't  help  it.  And 
j  ust  to  think  that  you  should  have  known  her  before,  sir. 
Now,  sir,  it  was  only  lately  that  I  caught  her  coming 
here,  though  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  she  has 
been  coming  here  for  a  long  time.  I  watched  her, 
Dixon,  sir,  I  did,  till  I  found  out  the  days  she  comes. 
I  know  them  ;  Wednesday  and  Friday  afternoons.  Am  I 
right?" 

Amelia  turned  her  eyes  toward  her  portly  eulogist,  and 
answered,  with  a  half- suppressed  laugh,  "  Those  are  the 
afternoons,  Mr.  Gloverson." 

What  would  the  kindly  Andrew  have  thought,  had  he 
known  that  Amelia  had  been  more  regular  in  her  visits, 
and  more  tender  toward  the  poor  old  woman  since  the 
date  of  her  own  misfortunes  ;  and  had  he  known  of  the 
rebuff  she  had  received  that  very  day,  when  she  had 
made  an  effort  to  help  herself  ?  As  it  was,  Mr.  Glover- 
son could  only  join  Amos  in  watching  her  silently  and 
admiringly,  as  she  arranged,  one  after  the  other,  the 
things  she  had  taken  from  the  basket,  even  to  the 
bouquet  of  flowers,  which  she  placed  in  a  vase  on  the 
bureau. 

4k  Henry  likes  you,"  said  Aunty  Owen,  after  looking 


298  GLOVERSON 

some  time  dreamily  into  Amelia's  face,  u  Henry  likes  you/' 
and  quietly  resumed  her  sewing. 

When  it  came  time  to  leave  the  little  house,  it  was  a 
remarkable  union  of  gallantry  and  tenderness  with  which 
Mr.  Andrew  Gloverson  insisted  on  carrying  Amelia's 
basket.  The  lightness  of  his  heart  and  feet,  as  he 
walked  on  one  side  of  her,  with  Amos  on  the  other,  can 
hardly  be  imagined.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill,  Mr. 
Gloverson,  all  at  once,  looked  at  his  watch,  and  ex- 
claimed with  much  transparent  artfulness,  "  How  could 
I? —  that  engagement  !  Good-by,  good- by  ;  God  bless 
you  both ! "  And  Andrew,  transferring  the  basket  to 
Amos,  disappeared  around  the  nearest  corner,  from  which 
he  watched  the  couple  long  and  wistfully.  Then,  not 
knowing  exactly  what  to  do,  he  followed  them  at  a  dis- 
tance, to  the  farther  extremity  of  Montgomery  Street, 
astonishing  more  than  one  foot-passenger  by  the  ardor 
with  which  he  said  from  time  to  time,  "  I  never  will  go 
back  on  my  own  judgment ;  something  is  going  to  hap- 
pen ! "  And  almost  immediately  after  Mr.  Gloverson 
would,  in  his  abstraction,  come  in  vigorous  contact  with 
some  reckless  urchin,  or  some  meditative  old  lady,  who 
happened  to  be  going  in  an  opposite  direction. 

When  Amelia  was  alone  with  Amos,  she  told  him  all 
that  she  knew  about  the  fraudulent  ways  of  Lang,  and 
of  the  well-nigh  hopeless  means  she  had  taken  to  recover 
the  property.  Under  the  circumstances,  Dixon  felt  no 
hesitancy  in  relating  all  that  he  knew  of  Karl's  last  mo- 
ments, together  with  certain  things  not  at  all  com- 
plimentary to  the  "  Stock  and  Money  Broker."  Amelia 
finally  told  Amos  of  her  fruitless  attempts  to  find  em- 
ployment. When  she  saw  these  confidences  had  dis- 
tressed him,  she  demanded  of  herself  reprovingly  why 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  299 

she  had  made  them,  and  concluded  that  it  was  because 
—  she  couldn't  help  it.  As  a  reparation,  however,  she 
assured  Mr.  Dixon  that  with  a  chance  to  help  herself — 
and  it  must  come  sooner  or  later  —  she  would  be  com- 
paratively happy. 

It  was  a  long  time  after  this  announcement  before 
Amos  spoke.  When  he  did,  his  face  bore  an  expression 
that  Amelia  had  never  seen  there  before.  All  the  long 
hidden  good  of  his  honest,  stalwart  soul  was  looking  out 
upon  her,  and  he  said,  "  The  chance  to  help  yourself  — 
it  will  come  ;  it  shall  come  !  " 

At  the  gate  of  the  elegant  house  no  longer  hers,  or  her 
mother's,  Amos  delivered  Karl's  package. 

"  Shall  I  invite  you  in,  Mr.  Dixon,  after  the  indignity 
that  has  been  heaped  upon  you  here  ?  " 

"  Not  to-day,  Miss  Clayton.  You  must  want  to  open 
the  package.  I  will  leave  you  to  it  now.  Poor  Karl  !  " 

"  Poor  Karl ! "  repeated  Amelia,  taking  the  hand  of 
Amos.  And  they  parted  without  another  word. 

Most  grown  women  —  and  men,  too,  for  that  matter  — 
hug  to  their  hearts  some  memory  they  look  back  upon,  as 
the  object  about  which  their  destiny  might  have  been 
turned  into  another  channel.  There  is  almost  always 
some  one  they  loved,  or  might  have  loved,  if  death  or 
distance  had  not  placed  the  insuperable  barrier.  Many 
a  woman  who  is  married  to  honest  John  to-day,  and 
sighs  regretfully  for  Reginald  that  she  might  have  mar- 
ried, might  have  sighed  regretfully  for  honest  John  in- 
stead, if  she  were  married  to  Reginald  to-day.  Mistakes 
are  liable  to  be  made  in  both  ways,  and  a  last  love  may 
be  a  true  love.  There  is,  somehow,  a  place  in  the  heart 


300  GLOVERSON 

for  longing ;  and  many  a  weary  hour  is  filled  up  in  the 
exercise.  Old  letters  and  locks  of  hair,  etc.,  etc.,  are 
the  well  known  offerings  at  this  shrine.  Amelia  knew 
that  she  loved  the  man  Dixon,  more  than  the  spirit  Karl 
—  that  she  bowed  before  one,  and  aspired  towarjl  the 
other  ;  but  Amelia  was  a  woman,  and  there  was  that  place 
in  her  heart  for  longing ;  and  it  is  more  than  probable 
that  Karl  is  Amelia's  "  might  have  been." 

She  went  to  her  room  to  open  the  package.  In  a  little 
box  she  found  an  exquisite  sea-shell  that  Karl  himself 
had  picked  up  at  Bermuda.  The  outside  of  this  unex- 
pected memento  —  of  different  shades  of  crimson,  and 
studded  at  intervals  with  little  petrifactions  of  moss  — 
bore  a  solid  gold  plate,  just  large  enough  for  the  inscrip- 
tion, "  Amelia"  "  Christmas."  The  shell  opened  on  little 
gold  hinges,  from  which  the  whiteness  of  the  inside  com- 
menced in  pearl  and  blending  gradually  into  all  the 
shades  that  are  lovely  with  white,  melted  or  rather 
blushed,  at  the  fluted  edges  about  the  golden  clasp,  into 
the  crimson  of  the  outside  of  the  shell.  It  was  a  little 
dream  of  fairy-land  —  all  pure  and  transparent,  like 
Karl's  own  nature. 

Amelia's  first  feeling  was  a  delightful  surprise.  But 
attached  to  the  inside  by  a  tiny  chain  of  gold  was  a  little 
scroll  of  parchment,  which  unrolled  as  the  shell  opened. 
Upon  this  there  was  some  feeble  writing,  evidently  in  the 
donor's  hand.  She  read,  after  much  effort  and  many 
tears,  — 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SHELL. 

Amelia,  take  the  little  gift, 

Men  neither  sell  nor  buy  — 
I  mean  this  fleck  of  fancy-drift 

Athwart  my  Christmas  sky ; 


.     AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  301 

And  find  within  the  nestling  place 

The  ocean  sprites  have  wrought, 
Though  set  anew  with  tyro  grace, 

An  olden  pearl  of  thought:  — 

"When  in  the  long,  long  future  time, 

This  shell  sings  of  the  sea, 
May  some  low  voice,  within  this  rhyme, 

Sing  to  thy  heart  of  me. 


302  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

AMOS    DIXON   PROVIDES    FOR    TWO   PERSONS. 

OTHER  eyes  than  the  exulting  ones  of  Mr.  Andrew 
Gloverson  watched  the  course  of  Amelia  and  Amos 
through  Montgomery  Street  that  afternoon  —  eyes  that 
did  not  lose  them  in  the  throng.  On  the  track  of  the 
young  couple  were  steps  which  did  not  turn  back  with 
the  good  old  merchant  at  Market  Street. 

Dixon,  on  his  return  from  the  elegant  house,  met 
George  Lang,  face  to  face,  on  the  corner  of  Folsom  and 
Second  streets.  The  broker  had  just  issued  from  a 
neighboring  saloon,  wiping  his  mouth.  They  looked 
each  other  squarely  in  the  eyes,  but  neither  spoke ;  and 
Amos  passed  on. 

After  walking  a  little  distance,  Amos  looked  back  and 
observed  that  Lang  was  coming  in  the  same  direction. 
"  He  cannot  be  following  me  ?  "  thought  Dixon.  '"I  will 
turn  up  this  by-street  and  see."  At  the  first  corner  of 
the  little  thoroughfare,  Amos  looked  again,  and  lo  !  Lang- 
had  turned  into  the  same  narrow  street  and  was  coming 
after  him. 

Dixon  wheeled  quickly  round  and  commenced  to  re- 
trace his  steps ;  on  seeing  which  Lang  started  a  little, 
but  kept  on  in  the  direction  he  had  taken.  They  now 
walked  leisurely  toward  each  other.  Approaching  nearer 
and  nearer  their  eyes  met,  and  glaring  angrily  at  each 
other,  the  rivals  passed  again,  speaking  not  a  word. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  303 

Dixon  walked  on,  too  indignant  to  look  back,  till  he 
had  reached  Montgomery  Street.  Lang  was  still  be- 
hind him.  "  There  is  no  doubt  about  it,"  thought  Amos  ; 
"  he  is  following  me.  Probably  he  is  going  to  put  his 
threats  in  execution." 

Dixon  suddenly  stopped,  and  waited  till  the  broker 
came  up.  Lang  was  again  in  the  act  of  passing,  when 
Amos  accosted  him.  "  Sir,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  you 
have  been  following  me." 

"  Well,  what  if  I  have?"  replied  Lang,  stopping  too, 
and  looking  at  Dixon,  contemptuously.  "  Ju-ustice,"  he 
added,  with  a  half  hiccup,  "ju-ustice  does  well  to  follow 
such  as  you  !  " 

"  Have  you  any  business  with  me,  Mr.  Lang  ?  " 

•'  I  have,  sir ! " 

"  Then  state  it  —  if  you  are  sober  enough." 

"  Drunk,  am  I  ?  .That's  not  the  first  insult  I  have  to 
settle  with  you  for." 

''You  can  settle  everything  with  me  right  now.  I 
only  wish  you  were  sober,  sir." 

"  This  crowd,"  replied  Lang,  with  drunken  dignity,  "  is 
—  is  not  the  place.  I'll  get  you  alone  yet,  you  know." 

"  You  will  never  leave  this  place  till  I  know  why  you 
have  been  dogging  my  steps.  If  it  is  because  I  am  aware 
that  you  have  betrayed  and  ruined  the  friend  of  your 
boyhood,  and  robbed  inexperienced  women,  you  should 
rather  slink  away  from  me,  to  get  out  of  my  contempt." 

"  One  of  us  must  pay  the  penalty  of  this  language,  sir," 
retorted  Lang,  becoming  almost  sober,  with  the  intensity 
of  his  anger  ;  "  will  you  meet  me,  like  a  gentleman,  sir  ?  " 

"  This  is  the  last  meeting  we  shall  ever  have,  with  my 
consent.  If  you  have  been  following  me  to  put  your 
threats  in  execution,  now  is  the  time.  If  I  ever  catch 
you  at  it  again,  I  shall  whip  you  as  I  would  a  dog  ! " 


304  GLOVERSON 

"  Hi,  hi ! "  said  an  enthusiastic  voice  in  the  crowd, 
which  was  increasing  every  moment. 

"  You  will  have  to  meet  me  alone  yet,  sir,"  growled 
Lang,  edging  his  way  out  of  the  throng.  Then  his  anger 
getting  the  better  of  his  prudence,  he  turned  and  said, 
with  a  haughty  curl  of  the  lip,  "  The  little  house  on  Tele- 
graph Hill,  eh?  It  takes  a  coward  to  entice,  to  such 
places,  as  respectable  a  young  tody  as  Miss  "  — 

Lang  fell  headlong  on  the  pavement  before  he  had  said 
the  word ;  and,  against  all  the  rules  of  the  prize  ring, 
Dixon  proceeded  to  give  the  broker  such  a  hearty  beat- 
ing, as  is  remembered  by  the  by-standers  even  to  this 
day. 

Amos  was  now  hurried  away  by  the  crowd,  whose  sym- 
pathies he  had  gained  by  the  quiet  forbearance  he  had 
shown  at  first,  and  then  by  the  expeditious  manner  in 
which  he  made  himself  the  victor. 

The  police  arrived  on  the  spot  just  in  time  to  get 
Lang's  senseless  body  into  a  carriage  and  convey  it  to 
his  hotel.  The  state  of  Mr.  Lang's  health  for  some  days 
afterwards,  or  his  pride,  or  some  cause  prevented  his 
making  any  complaint  to  the  authorities. 

The  next  day,  therefore,  after  business  hours,  Amos 
was  at  liberty  to  carry  out  the  idea  which  had  caused  his 
face  to  beam  so,  when  Amelia  had  said  that  with  a  chance 
to  help  herself  she  would  be  comparatively  happy.  "  I 
have  provided  for  Lang,"  said  Dixon  to  himself,  with  jifct 
a  little  excusable  satisfaction.  "  Now  I  must  provide  for 
Amelia  —  God  bless  her !  "  and  Amos  took  up  his  hat. 

"  Look  here,  Dixon,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Gloverson,  who  had 
been  watching  his  cashier  for  some  time,  and  who  had 
become  very  red  in  the  face,  from  internal  chuckling. 
"  Look  here,  Dixon,  sir,"  observed  the  old  gentleman, 
"  you're  mighty  sly,  sir  !  " 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  .      805 

Amos  blushed. 

"Mi-ighty  sly,  sir,"  repeated  Mr.  Gloverson,  closing 
one  eye,  and  contemplating  his  cashier  with  the"  other. 
"  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  of  your  goings  on  ?  You 
can  get  acquainted  with  angels  —  angels,  sir,  without  my 
knowing  it ;  but  when  you  get  down  to  plain  earth, 
sir,  I  have  my  eye  on  you.  A  d — d  rascal,  sir ;  a  d — d 
rascal ! "  •* 

Amos  varied  the  expression  of  his  face  by  turning 
white. 

"  It's  all  over  town,  Dixon,  sir,  and  for  my  part  I  am 
glad  of  it.  An  arrant  d — d  rascal,  sir  !  " 

"  Heavens,  Mr.  Gloverson,  what  is  it  ?  Is  it  anything 
that  will  injure  her  ?  " 

"  It  injure  her  ?  What  do  you  mean,  Dixon  ?  Fd 
like  to  see  the  man,  woman,  or  child,  or,  sir,  the  it,  sir," 
said  Mr.  Gloverson,  with  great  emphasis,  "  that  would 
dare  to  injure  her ! " 

Amos  was  silent  out  of  sheer  amazement,  and  Mr. 
Gloverson,  out  of  sheer  loss  of  breath. 

u  Dixon,  sir,"  began  the  old  gentleman  at  last,  "  you 
have  been  pounding,  sir,  yes,  pounding  George  Lang,  and 
I  am  going  to  give  you,  give  you  —  let  me  see ;  you've 
got  a  watch  —  well,  sir,  a  new  hat,  sir  !  " 

"  Oh  !  is  that  all,  Mr.  Gloverson  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  and  a  new  suit  of  clothes  besides,  sir,  for  he 
is  the  worst  rascal  unhung.  Fifteen  thousand  dollars 
out  of  my  pocket  into  his  infernal  Dorcas  mine  !  " 

"  How  in  the  world,  Mr.  Gloverson  !  Why,  that's  what 
he  ruined  poor  Schmerling  with.  I  have  all  the  stock 
in  rny  own  name  —  Lang  must  have  robbed  Karl  to  the 
amount  of  twenty  thousand  .dollars.  Why  did  you  not 
tell  me  about  this  before,  and  I  could  have  warned  you  ? " 

20 


306  GLOVERSON 

Mr.  Gloverson  was  confused.  "  You  see,  Dixon,"  fal- 
tered the  old  gentleman,  at  length,  "  this  thing  has  been 
going  on  some  time.  I  didn't  take  much  stock  at  first, 
but  —  but  then  my  judgment  was  implicated,  and  so  I 
—  in  fact,  I  paid  a  heap  of  assessments  to  back  up  my 
judgment,  and  when  the  stock  fell,  I  bought  it  all  up. 
The  mine,  Dixon,  has  never  been  developed,  Dixon,  and 
you  and  I,  sir,  at  this  day,  I  believe,  own  the  whole  of  it." 

"  As  for  any  real  value,"  rejoined  Amos,  with  a  smile, 
"  apart  from  a  memento  of  Karl,  I  would  willingly  make 
you  a  present  of  my  interest." 

"  You  shan't  do  it,  Dixon.  What,  sir,  is  fifteen  thou- 
sand dollars  to  my  judgment?  " 

They  regarded  each  other  in  silence.  The  blank  con- 
fusion suddenly  disappeared  from  Mr.  Gloverson's  face 
as  he  said,  "  Dixon,  sir,  you  think,  probably,  that  my 
judgment  has  gone  back  on  me  ?  " 

"  In  this  one  instance,  Mr.  Gloverson,  it  might  have 
done  so  without  "  — 

"  That  reminds  me,  sir,"  interrupted  the  resolute 
Andrew,  laying  violent  hands  on  his  hat,  "  that  I  never 
will  go  back  on  my  own  judgment,  sir.  Never,  sir;  I'll 
be  d — d  if  I  do  !  "  said  Mr.  Gloverson,  as  he  rolled  pre- 
cipitately out  of  the  door  and  out  ofjsight. 

Amos  could  now  resume  the  train  of  thought  so  queerly 
interrupted,  and  it  was  not  long  till  he,  too,  had  left  the 
countTng-house.  For  some  reason,  not  definitely  expli- 
cable to  himself,  he  took  stealthily  to  by-streets,  going  a 
good  deal  out  of  his  way  to  reach  a  certain  imposing  edi- 
fice in  a  retired  part  of  the  city. 

Having  rung  the  bell,  Amos  employed  himself,  while 
waiting,  in  reading  the  large  door-plate  :  "  SEMINARY  OP 
FASHION,  BY  Miss  DE  LA  PIERRE." 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  .         307 

A  pursuit  from  which  his  attention  was  suddenly 

distracted  by  many  girlish  screams,  and  the  clatter  of* 
multitudinous  feet,  in  full  retreat,  evidently  up  a  stair- 
way, on  the  inside  of  the  house,  not  far  from  the  door. 

"  Oh,  tews  !  What  is  it  ?  What  is  it  ?  Shall  I  faint 
or  call  the  police  ?  "  was  heard  immediately  after,  issuing 
from  some  one  in  the  interior  of  the  edifice,  and  obvi- 
ously approaching.  "  Young  ladies,  go  to  your  rooms, 
instantly." 

The  manner  in  which  this  mandate  was  obeyed,  was 
the  next  moment  apparent  to  Amos;  for,  as  the  door 
opened,  a  brilliant  group  of  young  heads  was  disclosed, 
peering  down  at  him  from  the  top  of  the  staircase. 

"  Come  right  into  the  parlor,  sir,"  said  the  same  voice 
that  Amos  had  heard.  "  You  may  have  a  daughter,  sir  ? 
or  I  should  say  a  sister,  sir?  Hem,  I  am  Miss  de  la 
Pierre.  Your  card,  sir  ?  Ah  !  don't  wish  to  give  it,  hem  ! 
By  the  way,  did  the  Chinaman  insult  you  ?  If  he  did,  I 
will  send  him  right  away.  I  know  it  is  not  fashionable 
to  have  Chinamen  about  the  house,  and,  as  soon  as  our 
arrangements  are  satisfactorily  completed,  I  can  promise 
my  patrons  that  I  will  employ  nothing  but  maid-servants 
of  the  strictest  morality." 

While  Miss  de  la  Pierre  had  thus  rattled  on,  she  had 
conducted  Amos  into  the  parlor,  motioned  him  to  a  seat, 
and  taken  another  in  front  of  him. 

"  As  to  the  Chinaman,"  replied  Amos,  staving  off  the 
business  at  hand  till  he  could  collect  himself,  "  I  believe 
I  did  not  see  him  at  all.  In  fact,  I  am  sure  that  he  did 
not  come  to  the  door." 

"  Oh,  laws ! "  exclaimed  Miss  de  la  Pierre  (formerly 
of  Vermont)  whose  real  name,  Miss  Stone,  had  been 
thus  Gallicized  for  business,  and  fashion's  sake,  "  Oh 


308  GLOVERSON 

laws  me !  shall  I  ever  attain  to  my  fleeting  beau-ideal  of 
moral  maid-servants  ?  "  and  Amos  observed  that  even 
little  Miss  de  la  Pierre's  curl-papers  quivered  with  the 
strength  of  her  emotion. 

Mr.  Dixon  now  began  to  lead  up  to  business,  by  say- 
ing that .  he  had  not  exactly  any  daughter  or  sister,  but 
he  thought  he  could  be  of  benefit  to  Miss  de  la  Pierre's 
institution.  Really,  Miss  de  la  Pierre  was  very  sorry, 
but  then  she  did  not  employ  gentlemen  teachers.  It 
wasn't  exactly  that ;  it  was  about  Miss  Clayton  that  he 
had  called. 

Now,  from  Miss  de  la  Pierre's  face,  it  was  obvious  that 
she  had  been  in  the  world  quite  a  measure  of  years,  but 
her  wrinkles  spoke  more  of  disappointment  than  of  sus- 
picion and  the  kindred  worldly  virtues.  This  may  ac- 
count for  the  fact  that  Miss  de  la  Pierre  did  not  observe 
the  thieving  expression  of  Amos's  countenance,  as  he 
pronounced  Miss  Clayton's  name. 

u  Oh  !  Miss  Clayton,  I  remember  her  perfectly.  I  am 
so  sorry  that  tl  e  times  are  so  hard,  and  then,  her  inex- 
perience, that,  i  sally,  I  could  not  employ  her.  It  is  truly 
too  bad ;  she  would  be  such  an  example  to  my  fashion- 
able young  ladies.  Her  appearance,  I  must  say,  is  quite 
distingue  and  comme  ilfaut,  as  we  say  in  the  language  of 
la  belle  France  —  then  her  music ;  but  laws  me,"  said 
Miss  de  la  Pierre,  brushing  back  her  curl-papers,  "  how 
tardy  I  am  getting  with  my  afternoon  toilet,  of  late ! 
You  will  excuse  my  appearance,  I  hope,  sir  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Miss  de  la  Pierre,  but  —  but,  can  you  keep 
a  secret  ?  " 

Miss  de  la  Pierre's  curl-papers  quivered  again.  She 
had  made  the  only  change  in  her  name  that  she  now  ever 
hoped  for ;  but  romance  was  her  last  love  —  the  only 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  309 

love,  indeed,  that  had  ever  been  returned  to  her.  "  A 
secret,  sir  ! "  and  the  little  creature  drew  her  chair  nearer 
to  Amos.  "  May  I  ask  your  name,  sir  ?  " 

"  That  is  not  what  I  wanted  to  reveal,  madam,  but  there 
is  certain  money  in  my  hands  at  the  disposal  of  Miss 
Clayton  —  which,  in  fact,  according  to  my  view  of  right," 
—  here  Amos  looked  more  like  a  thief  than  ever  —  "  be- 
longs to  Miss  Clayton.  Employ  her  here,  and  look  to 
me  for  the  salary.  She  must  know  nothing  about  me, 
or  the  arrangement,  or  she  would  not  like  to  enter  into 
it,  because  she  does  not  know  that  I  owe  it  to  her ;  and, 
you  see,  she  is  very  honorable." 

Amos  looked  anything  but  honorable  himself,  when  he 
had  concluded  this  speech. 

"  Yes,  oh  laws,  yes  !  "  said  Miss  de  la  Pierre,  formerly 
Stone,  of  Vermont,  utterly  absorbed  in  the  growing  ro- 
mance. 

"  Well,  then,"  began  Mr.  Dixon,  resolving  at  first  to 
dedicate  his  entire  salary ;  restraining  himself,  however, 
on  second  thoughts,  from  a  fear  of  betraying  himself  to 
Amelia,  "  well,  then,  would  a  hundred  dollars  a  month  be 
too  little  ?  " 

"  Oh  laws,  no !     She  wouldn't  get  fifty  anywhere." 

"  Let  us  taper  it  down  a  little,  Miss  de  la  Pierre,  just 
for  appearance'  sake  —  say  ninety  dollars  a  month." 

"  She  would  suspect,  oh  laws  !  she  would  suspect." 

"  Eighty  dollars,  then." 

"  Too  much,  sir,  too  much." 

"  She  must  have  eighty  dollars,"  and  the  determina- 
tion in  Amos's  face  drove  away  for  a  second  or  so  the 
thieving  look.  "  She  shall  have  eighty  dollars.  Think 
of  her  —  of  her  music,  and  her  —  her  music  !  "  ex- 
claimed Amos,  as  he  became  confused  and  thievish 


310  GLOVERSON 

again.  "  A  day  laborer,"  concluded  he, "  gets  more  than 
eighty  dollars  a  month  for  the  days  he  works." 

"  Too  true,  too  true,  and  too  bad,"  rejoined  Miss  de  la 
Pierre,  now  on  one  of  her  congenial  and  favorite  topics. 
"  Talent  and  learning  and  the  fine  arts  are  not  paid  in 
this  sublunary  sphere.  Their  millennium  is  in  the  breasts 
of  the  few  —  breasts,"  said  Miss  de  la  Pierre  sadly, 
"  which  always  have  empty  pockets  in  this  world.  If  it 
were  not  for  my  hair,"  continued  Miss  de  la  Pierre,  ar- 
ranging her  curls,  from  which  she  had,  by  this  time, 
stealthily  abstracted  the  papers  and  deposited  them  un- 
der her  apron,  —  "if  it  were  not  for  my  hair,  and  if  my 
woman's  strength  were  adequate,  I  have  often  thought 
I  would  go  to  carrying  a  hod,  a  great,  heavy,  inartistic, 
unfashionable  hod,  sir  ;  "  and  Miss  de  la  Pierre  watched 
the  impression  of  this  remark,  which  she  had  before  now 
made  with  great  effect  to  parents  and  guardians  who 
grumbled  at  her  bills,  which  (for  fashion's  sake)  were 
not  always  trifles. 

"  Well,"  said  Amos,  "  here  are  the  eighty  dollars. 
"Will  you  give  them  to  her  ?  " 

"  On  principle,"  replied  little  Miss  de  la  Pierre,  "  on 
aesthetic  principle,  I  think  I  will,  though  I  may  have 
to  quarrel  with  my  French  and  ornamental  wax  lady, 
Madame  Du  Ligne-Mouchebourg,  whose  name,  by  the 
way,  is  a  great  card,  as  you  see.  However,"  concluded 
Miss  de  la  Pierre,  "  it  can  be  given  out  that  Miss  Clay- 
ton has  been  employed  at  great  expense,  because  she  has 
once  moved  in  high  circles,  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth, 
you  know." 

"  Anything,  anything,"  said  Amos,  paying  over  the 
first  month's  salary  in  advance,  looking  more  and  more 
like  a  thief  all  the  time,  and  enjoining  so  much  secrecy 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  311 

upon  Miss  de  la  Pierre,  nee  Stone,  that  the  sentimento- 
worldly  little  woman  felt  sure  there  must  be  some  un- 
derlying romance  in  this  matter,  which,  sooner  or  later, 
would  be  unraveled  at  her  own  seminary,  thereby  giving 
it  the  most  valuable  advertisement  and  most  fashionable 
standing. 

"  Will  she  wish  to  board  here,  sir  ?  "  asked  Miss  de  la 
Pierre. 

"  No,  I  think  not.  In  fact,  I  know  that  the  state  of 
her  mother's  health  will  make  it  necessary  for  her  to  be 
at  home  as  much  as  possible.  And  you  will  let  her  go 
as  often  as  she  wants  to,"  said  Arnos,  rising  to  depart, 
"  and  never  speak  cross  to  her,  and  help  t her  at  first, 
and  "  - 

"  Oh  laws  me,  yes !  She  shall  be  her  own  mistress, 
her  own  mistress.  From  her  pleasant  face,  I  must  think 
our  dispositions  are  just  alike,  to  say  nothing  of  our  com- 
plexions, or  the  shades  of  our  hair ; "  and  so  delighted 
was  Miss  de  la  Pierre  with  the  clear  profits  of  this  valu- 
able acquisition  to  the  "  Seminary  of  Fashion,"  that  she 
still  kept  her  seat,  running  over  dreamily  the  headings 
of  the  fashionable  note  she  should  write  to  Miss  Clayton, 
that  very  evening:  how  circumstances  had  fortunately 
transpired,  since  the  occasion  on  which  Miss  de  la  Pierre 
had  had  the  honor  of  meeting  Miss  Clayten,  to  make  it 
Miss  de  la  Pierre's  duty  and  pleasure  to  solicit  the  at- 
tendance of  Miss  Clayton  on  the  following  morning. 
Miss  de  la  Pierre  would  then  be  able  to  offer  for  Miss 
Clayton's  gracious  acceptance  the  monthly  salary  of 
eighty  dollars,  in  gold  coin,  and  board  —  "  board,"  mused 
Miss  de  la  Pierre,  "  yes,  certainly ;  it's  a  duty  that  I 
owe  to  aesthetics;  certainly,  though  of  course  she  will  not 
take  it.  —  Oh  laws,  sir !  "  almost  shrieked  Miss  de  la 


312  GLOVERSON 

Pierre,  "  where  are  my  manners,  to  have  kept  you  stand- 
ing there  so  long !  Let  me  show  you  out,  sir. 

What.on  earth !  "  exclaimed  the  little  woman,  as  she  and 
her  visitor  had  reached  the  hall  door,  "  Will  I  ever  re- 
cover from  the  shock  ?  " 

Very  loud  giggling  was  heard  from  the  head  of  the 
stairs.  Miss  de  la  Pierre  turned  and  confronted  about 
twenty  blooming  young  faces,  that  were  hastily  rubbing 
against  one  another,  in  the  attempt  to  get  out  of  sight; 
and  a  perfect  silver  shower  of  laughter,  falling  every 
once  in  a  while  from  this  little  spring  sky,  drowned  the 
terrible  words  of  Miss  de  la  Pierre,  from  everybody  but 
Amos.  "Young  ladies,"  said  she,  "did  I  not  tell  you 
to  go  to  your  rooms  ?  You  are  guilty  of  disobedience. 
There  shall  not  be  a  pickle  put  upon  the  table  for  the 
next  week  !  And  that  is  not  all.  You  are  every  one  of 
you  guilty  of  an  offense  against  good  breeding,  and  — 
and  fashion.  You  have  been  laughing  at  a  visitor!  " 

Amos,  who  had  been  standing  with  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
waiting  to  bid  the  little  lady  good  afternoon,  did  not  seem 
to  be  abashed  at  all  by  this  allusion  to  himself.  He 
only  glanced  knowingly  from  a  roseate  face,  just  then 
peering  over  the  balusters,  down  to  the -carpet  of  the 
hall  floor,  where  Miss  de  la  Pierre's  curl-papers  hud 
been  strown,  like  sibylline  leaves,  unconsciously  by  that 
prim  lady,  as  she  had  taken  her  stately  course  through 
the  hall. 

"  Never  mind,  sir,"  said  Miss  de  la  Pierre,  who  had 
quite  forgotten  that  she  had  concealed  her  curl-papers 
under  her  apron,  "  never  mind,  sir,"  as  she  turned  to  bow 
Amos  out,  "I  am  as  much  amazed  as  you  are,  sir,  by  this 
extraordinary  insubordination  ;  and  they  shall  suffer  for  it. 
Deprivation  of  pickles,  as  you  may  not  be  aware,  is  the 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  313 

worst  punishment  that  can  be  inflicted  upon  the  inmates 
of  a  fashionable  seminary." 

"  Good  afternoon,  Miss  de  la  Pierre,"  said  Amos. 

"  Not  a  pickle  for  a  week,  young  ladies,  do  you  hear  ?  " 
for  the  infuriate  little  woman  was  shaking  her  fist  at  the 
offenders.  "  Not  a  pickle  —  oh  laws !  good  afternoon, 
sir.  Call  again,  pray,  when  I  assure  you,  sir,  the  repu- 
tation of  this  house  for  good-breeding  and  fashion  shall 
be  sustained.  Good  afternoon,  sir." 

And  Amos  left  little  Miss  de  la  Pierre  to  her  pupils 
and  her  curl-papers. 

The  next  day  was  Friday.  Toward  the  afternoon,  Amos 
grew  very  nervous.  He  would  look  up  occasionally  and 
catch  Mr.  Gloverson  eying  him  stealthily.  Then  Mr.  Glov- 
erson  would  look  up  and  find  Amos  eying  him  stealthily. 
This  was,  as  they  both  well  knew,  the  afternoon  on  which 
Amelia  was  accustomed  to  visit  Aunty  Owen. 

"  Dixon,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Gloverson,  at  last,  "  I  can't 
stand  this  thing  any  longer ;  besides,  I  have  got  to  go  — 
to  go  across  the  Bay,  sir,  to  dinner.  Excuse  me  to  the 
angel,  and  tell  her,  sir,  that  I  am  desperate,  sir,  and  that 
I  am  going  to  call  at  her  house,  sometime  or  other,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Gloverson,  why  not  go  with  me  to  Aunty  Owen's  ? 
There  is  no  need  of  jealousy  in  this  affair." 

"  Dixon,  you  be  d — d.  God  bless  you  both !  You 
know  you  want  to  be  alone.  Good-by  till  to-morrow ; 
Dixon,  sir,  good-by." 

And  as  soon  as  Mr.  Gloverson  was  out  of  sight,  Amos 
went  as  straight  up  Telegraph  Hill  as  he  could  climb. 

There  sat  Aunty  Owen  at  the  window,  looking  out 
upon  the  distant  Pacific,  still  plying  her  needle,  and  re- 
peating to  herself  at  the  same  listless  intervals,  "  Henry 
is  coming,  Henry  is  coming  !  " 


314  GLOVERSON 

Amos  tried  to  lead  her  into  conversation,  but  she 
would  only  look  him  in  the  face  and  then  smile,  as  she 
said,  "  Henry  likes  you,  Henry  likes  you,"  invariably  re- 
suming her  needle  in  silence. 

Amelia  could  not  yet  have  arrived,  but  Dixon  noticed 
that  the  flowers  in  the  vase  on  the  bureau  were  fresh, 
and  that  there  was  a  little  rose  lying  by  the  side  of  the 
vase.  "  I  will  put  this  back  in  its  place,"  thought  Amos, 
rising  and  walking  toward  it,  —  when,  lo  !  the  little  rose 
was  attached  to  a  pretty  white  envelope,  bearing  his  own 
address.  This  was  the  first  time  Amos  had  ever  seen 
Amelia's  writing,  yet  he  was  sure  that  nobody  but  so 
glorious  a  being  could  have  done  anything  so  elegant. 
He  believed,  then,  he  would  have  known  her  handwrit- 
ing if  he  had  seen  it  on  Mount  Caucasus. 

Alas  !  the  light  of  love  is  a  refraction,  rather  than  a  re- 
flection. Before  now,  it  has  made  fools  of  philosophers, 
and  philosophers  of  fools.  How  wise  it  is  that  Love  is 
represented  as  an  infant !  Are  not  lovers  always  young  ? 

"  My  dear  Mr  Dixon,"  read  Amos,  and  then  sat  down 
to  wait  till  the  words,  "  My  dear  Mr.  Dixon,"  should  stop 
ringing  in  his  ears.  They  would  stop  and  commence 
again,  so  that  the  poor  fellow  had  actually  read  the  note 
twice  through  before  he  grasped  the  contents  at  all. 
Amelia  did  not  know,  so  the  writing  averred,  what  Mr. 
Dixon  (  "  My  dear  Mr.  Dixon,  my  dear  Mr.  Dixon,"  said 
Mr.  Dixon's  ears)  would  think  of  getting  a  note  from 
her,  but  still  she  was  anxious  that  he  should  try  and 
make  Aunty  Owen  understand  that  she  (Amelia)  would 
come  to  Telegraph  Hill  as  soon  as  she  could  —  here 
Amos  paused  to  accuse  himself  of  great  neglect  and  for- 
getfulness ;  and  to  resolve,  also,  that  he  would  speak  to 
Miss  de  la  Pierre  and  have  it  distinctly  understood  that 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  315 

Miss  Clayton  should  be  allowed  to  go  to  Telegraph  Hill 
just  as  often  as  she  wanted  to.  "  For,"  thought  he,  "of 
course  it  would  be  too  bad,  not  to  have  her  come  on  her 
usual  afternoons,  because  —  because  Aunty  Owen  would 
certainly  miss  her,  and  want  to  see  her  very  much." 

Amos  resumed  the  reading  of  the  note.  "  Besides, 
Mr.  Dixon  ( '  My  dear  Mr.  Dixon,  my  dear  Mr.  Dixon,' 
again  quoth  Amos's  ears),  a  great  good  fortune  has  come 
upon  me,  and  I  could  not  help  telling  you  of  it,  without 
delay.  I  thought,  may  be,  too,  you  would  like  to  know 
it.  At  any  rate,  I  am  so  happy  now  that  I  must  tell  you 
all  about  it."  Here  followed  details  which  Amos,  de- 
spite the  ringing  in  his  ears,  read  over  and  over  again, 
not  because  they  conveyed  anything  to  him  about  the 
"  Seminary  of  Fashion  "  which  he  did  not  know  or  had 
not  expected,  but  because  Amelia  had  written  it. 

Amos  might  have  been  a  base  deceiver  in  this  little 
matter,  and  he  sometimes  thought  he  was ;  yet  one  thing 
is  sure  —  he  made  the  descent  of  Telegraph  Hill,  that 
afternoon,  very,  very  happy  indeed,  for  a  culprit. 


316  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

AT    THE    GRAVE. 

THE  first  fog  of  summer  was  coming  in,  through  the 
same  pathway  between  the  hills  that  the  sun  had  taken 
on  its  course  outward  to  the  Pacific.  It  was  a  raw  even- 
ing, wet  and  cold,  as  such  evenings  are.  The  candle- 
light at  Aunty  Owen's  window  did  not  penetrate  far  into 
the  mist,  which  covered  Telegraph  Hill  like  a  pall.  She 
could  not  see  the  ocean  which  was  to  restore  her  lost 
boy ;  so  she  could  not  ply  her  needle. 

As  she  sat  uneasily  peering  out  into  the  darkness, 
something  passed  quickly  across  the  little  track  of  light 
that  streamed  out  of  the  window.  At  this  window  she 
would  never  suffer  a  curtain  to  be  put  up.  It  might 
have  been  another  fold  of  the  mist  rolling  itself  closer 
against  the  little  tenement,  or  she  might  not  have  seen 
it ;  at  least,  she  still  sat  vainly  looking  for  the  sea,  as  if 
nothing  had  passed  before  her. 

A  slight  knock  came  at  the  door.  "  A  gun,  a  gun  !  " 
exclaimed  Aunty  Owen,  reaching  for  her  shawl.  "  Henry 
is  coming !  "  The  door  opened.  "  Not  yet,  not  yet !  " 
she  said,  with  a  sigh,  and  sunk  back  into  her  chair. 

There  entered  a  tall  figure,  muffled  in  the  blue  over- 
coat and  cape  worn  by  the  United  States  soldiery.  The 
face  was  almost  concealed  by  a  superabundance  of  dark 
whiskers.  "  Good  evening,  madam,"  observed  the  stran- 
ger, in  a  smooth  voice,  helping  himself  to  a  seat.  Aunty 
Owen  looked  silently  out  of  the  window. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  317 

"  I  have  frequently  heard  about  you,  and  your  misfor- 
tune, madam,  and  I  have  come  to  offer  you  what  help  I 
can.  I  trust  you  will  allow  me  to  add  a  little  to  what 
Mr.  Dixon  has  done  for  you." 

"  Henry  is  coming,  Henry  is  coming ! "  said  Aunty 
Owen  in  her  listless  way. 

"Here  is  a  little  purse  for  you,"  the  stranger  said, 
reaching  it  to  her. 

"  For  Henry  ?  oh  yes ;  "  and  she  seemed  to  her  visitor 
to  notice  him  for  the  first  time.  She  took  the  money  and 
put  it  away  in  the  bureau. 

After  this  a  vain  attempt  was  made  to  lead  the  old 
lady  into  conversation.  She  was  plied  in  many  different 
ways,  but  made  her  usual  answers,  always,  as  it  were, 
through  her  dead  son.  The  visitor  almost  despairing,  at 
last,  resolved  to  humor  her  insanity,  and  to  appeal,  if 
possible,  to  the  well-known  craftiness  of  persons  so 
afflicted. 

"  Henry  will  come,"  pursued  the  stranger,  "  when  you 
have  done  what  I  ask  of  you.  Put  this  in  the  water 
when  Mr.  Dixon  asks  you  for  a  drink,  after  coming  up 
the  hill." 

"  In  the  water  ?  oh  yes,  in  the  water.  I  will  put  it 
there  now,"  said  Aunty  Owen,  extending  her  hand  for 
the  little  vial  which  her  visitor  held  up  before  her. 

"  No,  no,  madam,  it  would  kill  you  !  " 

"Kill!  kill?  kill?"  Aunty  Owen  seemed  to  be  wan- 
dering. 

"  Yes ;  if  you  drank  it  you  would  die  ;  you  would  be 
dead." 

"  Dead  !  dead  ?  drowned  ?  No,  no,  he  is  not  drowned. 
Henry  is  coming,  Henry  is  coming  !  " 

"  Curse  her  craziness,"  muttered  the  tall  man,  as  Aunty 


318  GLOVERSON 

Owen  again  peered  silently  out  into  the  darkness,  looking 
for  the  sea.  "  Yes,"  continued  he  aloud,  "  Henry  is 
corning !  " 

"  Where  ?  Do  you  see  the  steamer  ?  I  cannot  see  the 
water,  I  cannot  see  the  water." 

"  Henry  cannot  come  till  you  have  given  some  of  this 
to  Mr.  Dixon,  in  •  the  water  to  drink.  Mr.  Dixon  has 
Henry  hidden  away.  When  he  is  dead,  Henry  will  come. 
Here  now,"  said  the  stranger  impatiently,  "  will  you  put 
this  into  the  water,  and  offer  Mr.  Dixon  a  drink,  when 
he  comes?" 

"  The  water,  the  water,  the  sea,  the  stars  !  yes,  the  wa- 
ter, I  see  it,  I  see  it !  "  and  the  poor  creature  was  in  an 
ecstasy  of  delight,  for  the  fog  was  rising  in  the  distance 
from  the  Golden  Gate,  only  to  pile  itself  the  thicker  on 
the  land. 

"  Do  you  understand  me  ?  "  asked  the  man,  still  more 
impatiently.  "  Will  you  give  this  to  Mr.  Dixon,  in  the 
water  ?  " 

Aunty  Owen  looked  up  into  the  bearded  face  that  had 
come  nearer  to  hers  in  the  eagerness  of  this  last  request. 
Gazing  at  him  restlessly  for  a  moment,  she  said  with  a 
strange  shudder,  "  Henry  does  not  like  you,  Henry 
does  not  like  you ! "  and,  catching  up  her  shawl,  she 
wrapped  it  around  her  shrunken  shoulders,  and  shivered 
as  with  a  sudden  cold. 

"  I  say,  will  you  give  this  to  Mr.  Dixon,  in  the  water  ?  " 
and  in  his  impatience  the  muffled  figure  touched  her  on 
the  shoulder.  The  poor  creature  seemed  too  frightened 
to  speak,  and  only  shuddered  again. 

The  man  sat  down  in  his  chair,  baffled.  He  after- 
wards tried  all  manner  of  soothing  speech,  but  the  only 
notice  he  could  get  Aunty  Owen  to  take  of  him  was  to 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  319 

say,  at  long  intervals,  "  Henry  does  not  like  you,  Henry 
does  not  like  you  !  " 

Then  there  was  a  long  silence,  the  stranger  sitting 
muffled  in  his  cape,  and  Aunty  Owen  crouching  away 
from  him  by  the  window,  and  looking  anxiously  toward 
the  sea,  and  the  stars  which  were  coming  out  over  it. 

A  sudden  crash  was  heard  against  the  neighboring 
rocks,  and  the  cliff  and  the  little  house  shook  again.  "  A 
gun,  a  gun  !  "  exclaimed  Aunty  Owen,  rising  and  arrang- 
ing her  shawl  over  her  head ;  and  without  another 
word,  she  walked  past  her  visitor  and  out  of  the  door, 
as  in  a  trance,  her  eyes  bent  straight  ahead  of  her. 

The  next  moment,  the  dark  whiskers  disappeared  from 
the  cheeks  and  chin  of  the  tall  man,  and  the  angry,  baf- 
fled face  of  George  Lang  stood  revealed  in  the  dim  light 
of  the  deserted  room. 

He  followed  Aunty  Owen  at  a  distance,  up  the  cliff, 
and  saw  her  at  the  usual  place,  leaning  over  and  waving 
her  shawl  at  the  steamer  passing  below.  The  night  was 
yet  cold  and  damp,  and  Aunty  Owen's  white  hair  was 
streaming  in  the  chilly  wind,  beneath  the  starlight. 

As  Lang  turned  his  steps  homeward,  he  said  between 
his  teeth,  "  Old  lady,  you  have  forced  me  to  take  this 
disagreeable  business  upon  myself;  you  might  have  done 
it  without  danger  to  either  of  us.  Well,  you  have  forced 
it  on  me ;  and  if  I  could  wish  any  revenge  on  you,  as 
well  as  hijn,  I  think  this  night-wind  will  take  it  for  me." 

The  broker  reached  his  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  So 
vivid  were  the  memories  of  the  past  week,  that  he  seemed 
to  be  writhing  again  with  the  pains  Dixon's  beating  had 
caused  him.  In  his  utter  weariness, lie  would  sometimes 
fall  into  a  troubled  doze,  from  which  he  would  be  aroused 
by  the  voice  of  some  familiar  friend,  telling  him  that 


320  GLOVERSON 

Dixon's  triumph  was  the  town-talk.  Dozing  again,  the 
despairing  voice  of  his  lawyer  would  go  over  and  over 
the  headings  of  his  defense,  in  the  great  suit  for  fraud, 
which  was  coming  on.  The  gruff  tones  of  the  officer, 
summoning  him  to  appear  before  the  court,  would  awake 
him,  and  he  would  sit  up  in  his  bed  and  stare  about  him, 
to  dispel  the  shadows.  "  I  cannot  be  well  yet,"  thought 
Lang,  as  he  laid  his  head  once  more  upon  his  pillow. 
"  Dixon  shall  suffer  for  these  sufferings  of  mine." 

With  this  consolation,  he  could  doze  again.  Familiar 
faces  of  years  and  years  ago  would  look  in  upon  him, 
—  all  blending  finally  into  that  of  Karl.  The  smile  on 
Karl's  face  would  darken  into  sorrow  and  then  into  an- 
ger, and,  finally,  would  become  so  fraught  with  an  unde- 
fined dread,  and  so  terrible,  that  Lang  turned  his  head 
upon  the  pillow  to  escape  the  horror.  Then  he  would 
hear  the  music  of  the  "  Song  of  Friendship,"  and  gradu- 
ally he  would  see  Amelia  Clayton  coming  toward  him, 
with  a  lovely  smile,  and  her  hand  extended.  He  would 
wait  in  ineffable  joy ;  but  she  would  pass  close  by  him, 
not  heeding  him  —  when  he  would  discover  another 
hand  coming  out  to  meet  hers,  and,  as  the  hands  met, 
the  figure  of  Amos  Dixon  would  flash  triumphantly  into 
sight ;  and  Lang  would  wake  with  a  curse  upon  his 
parched  lips. 

"  Yes,  Dixon  must  suffer  for  this,  suffer,  suffer,  suffer  ;  " 
and  the  weary  half  sleep  came  upon  him  again."  Gradu- 
ally a  coldness  began  at  his  feet,  and  came  in  long  strides 
toward  his  head  —  in  long  strides,  and  yet  it  seemed  a 
day  before  these  cold  footsteps  reached  his  breast. 
There  they  paused,  pressing  heavier  and  heavier.  Some- 
thing passed  over  the  film  before  his  eyes  —  passed  and 
repassed.  Then  he  saw  it  was  the  old  lady  of  the 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  321 

heights,  standing  ruthlessly  on  his    breast  and  waving 

—  waving  at  something  indistinguishable  in  the  distance. 
Unable  to  bear  it  longer,  Lang  cried  out  in  his  misery, 

and  the  old  lady  seemed  slowly  to  shrink  into  a  corner 
of  the  room,  where  she  crouched  shivering  and  hiding 
her  face,  as  she  had  done  in  the  little  tenement.  Lang 
sat  up  in  bed,  but  still  he  heard  Aunty  Owen's  voice  say- 
ing, "Henry  does  not  like  you,  Henry  does  not  like 
you!" 

He  sprang  up  and  hastened  to  the  corner  whence  the 
voice  seemed  to  proceed.  Nothing  was  there.  "  What 
kind  of  devil's  panorama  is  this  ?  "  asked  Lang,  attempt- 
ing to  make  light  of  his  own  hallucination.  "  It  must 
be  a  sort  of  mental  nightmare,  induced  by  an  over- 
loaded brain."  At  least,  he  was  sure  it  came  from  the 
head  and  not  from  the  stomach.  Or  might  it  not  be  a 
warning  for  him  to  lose  no  more  time  ?  Were  not  the 
majority  of  deaths  in  California  sudden  ones  ?  Were 
not  the  healthy  and  strong  those  who  slipped  from  us 
every  day  ?  Yes,  yes,  revenge  must  be  swift,  or  Dixon 
might  be  removed  from  its  reach.  "  Then  this  fullness, 
this  whirling  of  the  head,"  hissed  Lang,  applying  his 
hands  to  his  throbbing  temples,  and  the  strangest  hallu- 
cination of  all  came  over  him.  Above  the  solemn  din 
in  his  ears,  the  sound  of  his  own  heart-beats  rung  loud, 
and  clear,  and  regular,  like  a  funeral  bell ;  and  at  each 
loud,  clear,  and  regular  beat,  two  shapes  came  and  went 
alternately  before  his  eyes,  like  figures  on  a  Swiss  clock 

—  Karl,  angry  and  terrible  ;  and  Amos,  cahii  and  tri- 
umphant.    "  Will  daylight  ever  come  ?  "  moaned  Lang, 
seating  himself  on  his  bed  till  the  succeeding  dizziness 
had  passed  away. 

21 


322  GLOVERSON 

And  then,  having  dressed  himself,  he  walked  the  room 
till  morning. 

The  morning  was  a  bright  one  for  two  persons  of  your 
acquaintance.  They  hastened  about  their  respective 
duties,  with  more  than  ordinary  cheerfulness,  for  they 
were  to  meet  at  Aunty  Owen's  that  afternoon.  They  had 
a  sad  yet  grateful  duty  to  perform  then,  and  they  looked 
forward  to  it  with  a  sort  of  melancholy  pleasure  akin  to 
that  which  one  feels  in  remembering  honest  tears.  Amos 
and  Amelia  were  to  go  from  Aunty  Owen's  to  visit  Karl's 
grave.  They  were  to  go  by  the  street  -  cars  to  Lone 
Mountain.  Amos  had  at  first  insisted  on  a  carriage,  but 
Amelia  suggested  that  they  would  be  more  at  their  ease, 
and  could  walk  more  about  the  grounds,  and  take  their 
time,  etc.,  etc.,  if  they  went  in  the  cars.  So  Amos  was 
convinced,  not  much  against  his  will. 

Mr.  Dixon  happened  to  be  at  the  foot  of  the  Hill  just 
in  time  to  assist  Amelia  to  make  the  ascent,  he  having 
been  waiting  for  that  purpose  exactly  one  half  hour  by 
his  watch.  They  both  commented  on  the  strange  coin- 
cidence ;  and  Amos  first  took  possession  of  Amelia's 
basket,  and  then,  detaining  the  hand  that  had  been  given 
to  him,  by  way  of  greeting,  placed  it  under  his  arm. 
Thus  they  proceeded  very  happily  up  to  Aunty  Owen's. 

After  knocking  at  the  little  tenement,  they  pushed  the 
door  open.  The  chair  by  the  window  was  empty.  Aunty 
Owen  had  not  left  her  bed.  As  Amelia  bent  over  her, 
asking  one  anxious  question  after  another,  Aunty  Owen 
opened  her  eyes  and  smiled,  but  did  not  or  could  not 
speak.  "  She  is  very  ill,"  said  Amelia.  "  She  has  a 
high  fever." 

"  Poor  thing,"  said  Amos.     "She  must  have  been  out 


AND  HIS  SILENT   PARTNERS.  323 

in  that  cold  mist  last  night,  when  the  steamer  came  in. 
I  thought  of  her,  when  I  heard  the  gun.  I  will  go  for  a 
doctor,  and  a  nurse,  and,  and  —  for  Mr.  Gloverson.  He 
would  never  forgive  me,  if  I  did  not  tell  him  immedi- 
ately." 

"  Yes,  do,  Mr.  Dixon ;  I  will  stay  here  this  afternoon," 
and  Amelia  glanced  at  the  flowers  she  had  brought  to 
place  on  Karl's  grave. 

"  "We  can  go,"  said  Amos,  following  her  eyes,  "  we  can 
go  on  some  other  afternoon,  when  Aunty  Owen  is  well, 
but  if  it  would  be  any  satisfaction  to  you  —  and  I  know 
it  would  —  to  have  these  flowers  go  where  you  intended 
to  put  them,  why,  as  soon  as  I  have  been  on  my  other 
errands,  I  can  carry  them  to  Lone  Mountain  all  the 
same.  Mr.  Gloverson  would  be  delighted  to  conduct 
you  home." 

"You  are  so  kind,  Mr.  Dixon.  If  you  could  only  put 
them  on  poor  Karl's  grave  before  they  fade,  I  don't 
know,  but  it  seems  that  he  would  be  grateful  to  you, 
even  in  the  pure  heaven  he  must  have  gone  to  —  any 
time,  you  know,  before  they  fade." 

"  Before  they  fade,  before  they  fade,"  repeated  Amos, 
gathering  up  the  flowers  and  taking  a  very  respectful 
leave.  When  he  had  got  out  sight  of  the  little  house, 
he  thought  what  a  fool  he  was  for  not  thinking  to  say 
that  Karl,  if  he  knew  anything  about  the  world  below, 
would  be  grateful  to  Amelia  and  not  to  him  for  this  act 
of  tender  remembrance.  Should  he  return,  and  say  it  ? 
No,  Aunty  Owen  might  be  suffering  for  the  want  of 
medical  assistance.  He  hastened  his  steps,  therefore, 
and  sent  a  doctor  and  a  nurse  and  Andrew  Gloverson 
back  to  the  aid  and  comfort  of  the  unfortunate  old  lady. 

"  These  flowers,"  thought  Amos,  "  I  can  just  as  well 


324  GLOVERSON 

take  out  there  now,  *  Before  they  fade,  before  they  fade.' 
They  may  fade  before  to-morrow.  I  will  walk  to  Lone 
Mountain  and  ride  back.  One  thinks  better  walking." 

And  Mr.  Dixon  did  think.  It  did  not  seem  a  long 
walk,  yet  the  sun  was  down  and  the  evening  coming  on, 
when  he  reached  the  cemetery.  It  was  nearly  dark  as 
he  left  the  grave,  for  he  had  been  thinking  there,  too. 
He  may  have  dropped  a  tear  or  so  among  the  flowers 
he  strewed  upon  the  green  mound ;  but  the  world  is  not 
over  sentimental,  and  it  may  be  well  for  the  reputation 
of  Amos  that  this  part  of  his  history  is  obscured  by  the 
growing  darkness  of  that  late  twilight. 

As  he  turned  homewards,  a  muffled  figure  issued  from 
behind  a  neighboring  monument  and  stole  hastily  to  the 
spot  Amos  had  left.  It  seemed  to  be  the  purpose  of 
this  figure  to  follow  after  Dixon,  for  it  passed  hastily 
around  the  grave,  groping  its  hand  quickly  through  the 
flowers,  as  in  search  of  something.  Finally  it  stooped 
over  the  head-stone,  where  "  KARL  VON  SCHMERLING  " 
was  yet  legible,  in  large  letters.  Then  there  was  a  wild 
shriek,  and  the  figure  fell  headlong  over  the  grave. 

Amos  heard  it  and  turned  back.  Beneath  the  blue 
military  coat  and  cape,  and  the  bushy,  dark  whiskers,  he 
recognized  —  the  senseless  body  of  George  Lang. 

The  tombstone  had  given  Lang  the  first  intelligence 
of  Karl's  death,  and  he  had  fallen  upon  the  dust  of  the 
man  he  had  ruined,  stricken  by  the  terrible  affliction 
which,  unawares  to  him,  had  been  long  threatening,  and 
of  whose  premonitory  symptoms  he  had,  the  night  before, 
mistaken  the  warning.  George  Lang  was  paralyzed. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  325 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

AT    THE    ALTAR. 

•» 

IN  the  mean  time,  Mr.  Nelson  Shallop  and  Miss  So- 
phia Garr  had  not  been  idle.  That  lady  repeatedly  asked 
herself  if  it  was  a  dream,  or  was  it,  at  last,  the  long-sought 
ingot  of  a  husband  ?  It  could  be  no  vision ;  Mr.  Shallop 
was  so  attentive,  prompt,  and  business-like.  -  "  He  may 
not  weigh  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,"  mused  the  cal- 
culating Sophia,  "  but  he  is  certainly  worth  his  weight 
in  gold — in  American  gold  coin,  which  he  has  laid 
up!" 

"  The  committee  of  Cherubim,"  wrote  Miss  Garr  to  a 
friend  in  Maine  —  on  her  monogrammed  paper  —  "  the 
committee  of  Cherubim  to  which  the  business  must  be 
delegated  (for  I  like  delegated  authority  in  heaven  where 
matches  are  made),  if  called  upon  at  this  moment,  would 
certainly  report  progress."  The  fanciful  as  well  as  con- 
fused manner  in  which  this  announcement  was  made,  is 
probably  the  best  testimony  to  its  truth.  If  any  farther 
proof  were  necessary,  the  following  correspondence  would 
put  the  activity  of  those  cherubim  beyond  the  shadow  of 
a  doubt : — 


326  GLOVEUSON 

FFICE   OF 


STOCK  AND  MONEY  BROKER, 

MONTGOMERY  STREET. 

Highest  Gold  Prices  for  U.  S.  Currency  and  Govern- 
ment Securities  of  all  kinds. 

"  SAN  FRANCISCO,  May  22. 
"Miss  S.  GARR: 

"  D'r  Mad'na,  —  Yours  of  this  morning  is  rec'd  &  contents 
noted. 

"  Will  you  marry  on  terms  stated  at  last  meeting  ?  If  so, 
when  ?  Respectfully,  N.  SHALLOP." 

The  answer  to  this  filled  the  last  of  Miss  Garr's  mono- 
grammed  paper.  In  what  happier  service,  indeed,  could 
this  expensive  luxury  have  been  ended  ? 


"  SAN  FRANCISCO,  May  23. 

"  MY  OWN  SWEET  ONE,  —  You  are  right,  and  the  Consti- 
tution of  the  State  of  California  is  wrong.  A  wife  should  hold 
no  property  away  from  her  husband.  On  the  nuptial  morn,  the 
three  thousand  dollars,  my  little  earnings,  shall  be  deposited  in 
your  name  at  the  lank.  I  defer  it  till  then  as  a  sort  of  surprise 
to  you  —  my  wedding  present  with  an  untrammeled  heart,  that 
never  loved  before,  so  that  all  shall  be  joyous  on  that  blissful 
morn. 

"  Will  theirs/  of  June  be  soon  enough,  my  dear?  That  is 
the  first  day  of  school  vacation.  Why  should  we  delay  f  Not 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  -      327 

for  the  expense  surely.  We  need  not  get  any  wedding  clothes. 
I  shall  be  married  in  a  plain  travelling  dress  and  no  cards.  We 
can  take  our  wedding  tour  across  the  Bay,  on  the  ferry-boat. 
Then  you  can  come  over  to  business  every  day,  during  the 
honeymoon,  just  the  same,  and  not  lose  your  salary.  You  see  I 
am  not  selfish. 

"  Dear  Nelson,  you  must  not  \)&  jealous  of  that  old  designing 
scoundrel,  Gloverson.  I  have  very  properly  rebuffed  him,  telling 
him  that  my  affections  are  engaged.  I  have  reason  to  believe 
that  he  does  not  come  to  see  me  any  longer,  but  Amelia.  How 
many  lovers  will  that  designing  girl  have  ?  Well,  after  mar- 
riage, I  shall  be  removed  from  such  associations.  That  will  be 
one  consolation  at  least. 

"  Let  the  Jirst  of  June,  therefore,  be  the  day  of  our  destiny. 
I  sigh  for  it,  and  it  reminds  me  of  a  piece  of  poetry  which  I  can 
never  remember:  «  Beneath  the  sylvan  tents  of  June.'  Is  it  not 
beautiful  ?  Do  you  know  the  rest  of  it  V  If  you  do,  I  think  it 
apropos  to  our  sad-joyful  case.  I  never  can  think  of  it.  Adieu. 
"  Tout  a  toi,  SOPHIA." 

MR.  NELSON  SHALLOP'S  REPLY. 

FF1  C  E  OF 

GEORGE    L_A.]Sra, 

STOCK  AND  MONEY  BROKER, 

MONTGOMERY  STREET. 

t^iT  Highest  Gold  Prices  for  U.  S.  Currency  and  Govern' 
ment  Securities  of  all  kinds. 

"  SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL.,  May  24. 
"Miss  S.  GARR: 

"  D'r  Mad'm,  — .Yours  of  23d  inst.  is  rec'd  &  contents  noted. 
1st  of  June,  prox.,  will  suit,  provided  a  certificate  of  deposit, 


328  GLOVERSON 

pay'ble  to  my  order  is  deliv'd  into  my  hands  on  that  morn'g 
prior  to  performance  of  ceremony. 

"  Hop'g  this  will'meet  your  approbation,  I  am, 

"  Y'rs  truly, 

"  N.  SHALLOP." 

From  the  date  of  this  epistle  to  the  morning  appointed 
for  his  nuptials,  Mr.  Shallop  is  a  candidate  for  the  reader's 
sympathies.  He  had  no  time  to  look  forward  to  the 
splendors  of  his  triumph,  for  he  was  harassed  well-nigh 
to  death  by  the  trial  of  the  case  for  fraud,  in  which  he 
had  to  act  for  his  invalid  employer. 

The  tide  seemed  going  against  Lang  till  the  pow- 
erful testimony  of  Nelson  Shallop  was  brought  in.  By 
the  aid  of  the  office  books  and  some  awful  perjuries,  the 
crisp  little  clerk  established  that  Lang  had  been  the 
heaviest  loser  in  the  "  Jones  and  Robinson  "  stock.  So, 
if  the  broker  had  made  a  mistake  in  the  disposal  of  the 
money  accruing  from  the  sale  of  the  Clayton  property,  it 
was  an  honest  mistake  of  judgment,  which  had  also  well- 
nigh  resulted  in  his  own  ruin.  There  could  be  no  ques- 
tion of  his  legal  right  to  sell,  for  the  full  powers  of 
attorney  were  offered  —  and  rather  ostentatiously,  too  — 
for  the  inspection  of  the  court  and  jury.  The  late  great 
rise  in  the  "  Green  Lion  "  was  well  known.  That  had 
been  the  financial  redemption  of  George  Lang. 

The  case  was  argued  long  and  well  on  both  sides  ; 
Mr.  Archibald  Beanson,  as  junior  counsel  for  the  plain- 
tiff, having  made  his  famous  first  speech  before  a  jury. 
The  stock  excitement,  however,  had  ruined  so  many,  and 
the  broker  had  laid  his  plans  so  comprehensively,  that 
the  jury  could  do  nothing  but  render  a  verdict  for  the 
defendant. 

It  was  Mr.  Shallop,  himself,  who  bore  the  glad  news  to 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  329 

Mr.  Lang.  As  the  clerk  entered,  the  broker  was  moving 
slowly  about  his  room,  swearing  that  he  would  work  off 
the  miserable  torpor  which  had  seized  his  limbs. 

"  The  suit's  won  ! "  said  Shallop. 

"  Good,  good  !    Give  the  lawyers  a  supper !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Lang,  but  it  was  my  testimony  that 
saved  you.  Come,  what  shall  I  give  myself?  " 

"  Well,  what  does  this  mean,  sir  ?   What  do  you  want  ?  " 

Mr.  Shallop  in  fact  had  an  unusual  look  about  his  face, 
which  Lang  did  not  at  all  like.  The  cast  in  the  little 
clerk's  eye  was  never  before  so  expressive. 

"  What  do  I  want  ?  "  said  Nelson.  "  I  don't  want  to 
perjure  myself  for  nothing,  and  I  won't." 

"  You  seem  bent  on  quarreling,  sir.  Do  you  think  you 
can  take  advantage  of  me  now  because  of  this  accursed 
affliction  ?  You  ought  to  know  me  better." 

"  Do  you  think,  Mr.  Lang,  I  am  going  to  run  state 
prison  risks  for  you,  without  big  pay  for  it  ?  " 

"  Did  I  ever  ask  you  to,  you  lunatic  ?  Come,  what  has 
got  into  you  ?  I  will  give  you  any  reasonable  reward." 

"  Ah !  you  will,  will  you  ?  Now  let  us  see.  You  know 
those  deeds  of  the  Clayton  house  which  we  exchanged  ?  " 

*'  I  do,  sir,"  said  Lang,  "  and  when  you  have  given  me 
the  deed  of  that  property  which  I  made  to  you,  I  will 
restore  you  the  one  which  you  made  to  me  ;  and  then  I 
will  allow  you  such  a  reward  for  your  services  as  no 
reasonable  man  would  complain  of." 

Mr.  Shallop  did  now  what  he  rarely  or  never  did.  He 
laughed. 

"  Have  you  lost  your  wits,  Nelson  ?  "  demanded  the 
broker. 

"  Have  you  lost  yours,  Mr.  Lang  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  by  the  powers,  and  you  will  find  out  that  I 
have  not,  if  you  keep  on,  sir." 


330  GLOVERSON 

"  So  much  the  better,  Mr.  Lang,"  quoth  Nelson. 
"  Then  you  can  understand  that  I  am  going  to  keep  your 
deed  of  the  Clayton  house,  and  pocket  the  proceeds  of 
the  sale  myself.  You  have  made  enough  off  this  opera- 
tion, and  I  have  done  your  work  long  enough.  That's 
all,  sir  ;  I  thought  I'd  let  you  know." 

"  Are  you  crazy,  sir  ?"  and  Lang  placed  himself  before 
the  door.  . 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  Mr.  George  Lang.  In  proof  of 
which  assertion,  Mr.  Lang,  I  give  you  leave  to  keep  my 
deed  of  the  Clayton  house  to  you.  I  don't  fear  your 
using  it  much.  We  are  a  leetle  too  intimate  with  each 
other's  affairs,  Mr.  Lang.  By  the  way,  you  can  open 
your  office  yourself  to-morrow  morning.  As  for  me, 
I  am  going  to  marry  and  settle  down  in  some  paying 
business  of  my  own." 

"  You  dog,  you  would  not  dare  to  talk  so,  if  it  were 
not  for  this  paralysis.  I  will  go  down  to  my  office  to- 
morrow, and,  if  I  do  not  find  you  there  "  — 

Nelson  here  pushed  the  speaker  easily  aside  and  passed 
out.  Lang  came  near  having  another  stroke  of  apoplexy, 
so  intense  was  his  rage. 

The  next  morning  the  broker  was  driven  down  to  his 
office,  but  Shallop  did  not  appear.  "  Does  the  fool  imag- 
ine his  ruin  was  not  plotted  from  the  first  ?  I  have  led 
him  to  think  he  was  my  mentor.  Another  train  was 
laid  for  him.  Well,  the  case  is  desperate.  I  must  make 
a  virtue  of  necessity,  and  regain  my  own  good  name  with 
the  world,  making  away  with  him  at  the  same  time.  One 
sacrifice  will  do  both.  Amelia  shall  see  me  the  theme 
of  public  praise,  and  must  join  in  it,  in  her  own  despite." 
These  thoughts,  and  the  congenial  pressure  of  business 
seemed  to  revive  Lang. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  331 

It  was  Mr.  Shallop's  wedding  morning,  and  the  little 
gentleman  had  risen  early.  He  partook  of  a  hearty 
breakfast,  making  his  plans  for  the  day  over  the  Eastern 
stock  quotations  of  the  morning  paper,  which  he  read 
from  habit.  Then  he  hurried  forth,  and  found  himself 
going  hastily  toward  Lang's  office,  also  from  habit. 
Checking  himself,  he  turned  toward  the  bank,  where 
Miss  Garr  had  agreed  that  morning  to  have  the  three 
thousand  dollars  payable  to  his  order.  The  bank  was 
not  yet  open.  He  caught  sight  of  the  porter,  however, 
to  whom  Mr.  Lang's  clerk  was  well  known. 

"  Ah !  here,"  said  Mr.  Shallop,  "  put  that  two-and-a- 
half  in  your  pocket.  It  may  help  you  to  make  haste  in 
an  errand  you  will  be  sent  on  this  morning.  Has  the 
teller  arrived  ?  " 

The  teller  had  arrived,  and  Shallop  was  allowed  to 
speak  with  him  a  moment.  The  result  of  their  confer- 
ence was  an  agreement  that  before  eleven  o'clock,  the 
porter  should  be  despatched  to  the  church  where  the 
nuptials  were  to  take  place,  with  a  note  from  the  teller 
informing  Mr.  Shallop  of  the  fulfillment  or  non-fulfill- 
ment of  Miss  Garr's  part  of  the  marriage  contract. 

On  his  way  from  the  bank,  Mr.  Shallop  came  very 
near  turning  into  the  familiar  street  which  should  lead 
him  to  Lang's  office,  but  the  idea  of  his  toilet  suggesting 
itself,  he  had  no  further  difficulty  in  getting  back  to  his 
lodging. 

Miss  Garr's  preparations  had  been  deliberate.  Four 
afternoons  had  been  exhausted,  alone,  in  the  purchase  of 
the  travelling  dress  of  gray  poplin,  in  which  she  was  to 
lose  her  name,  and  (by  a  pleasant  fiction)  her  identity. 
Fastidiousness  about  the  price,  rather  than  the  pattern, 
compelled  a  complete  pilgrimage  of  all  the  cheap  shops 


332  GLOVERSON 

in  the  city.  Then  the  fitting  and  the  making  —  "a  piece 
of  delegated  authority,"  said  Miss  Sophia,  "  that  I  do  not 
like  "  —  was  another  matter  which  also  exhausted  some 
time,  and  much  temper ;  for,  the  bride,  as  she  liked  to 
call  herself,  acting  as  her  own  mantua-maker,  could  not 
achieve  the  proper  juvenile  slope  to  the  salient  points  of 
her  own  shoulders.  In  her  vexation  she  was  forced,  at 
last,  to  employ  a  widow,  who  had  a  small  family  of  six 
children,  and  who  had  seen  better  times.  It  might  have 
been  for  this  aristocratic  consideration  that  Miss  Garr 
allowed  her  about  half  the  ordinary  wages  for  such  ser- 
vice. 

But  the  question  of  bridesmaids  was  the  one  which 
caused  Miss  Garr  the  greatest  fluttering,  and,  at  last,  the 
greatest  chagrin.  She  had  at  first  asked  two  or  three 
lady  teachers  of  her  acquaintance,  but  none  of  them  felt 
called  upon  by  a  friendship  which  they  did  not  feel,  and 
with  many  excuses,  each  of  them  positively  refused. 
Mrs.  Leadbetter  announced  her  willingness  to  act,  were 
it  not  for  "circumstances  over  which  she  now  had  no 
control,"  she  having  been  a  bride  herself  some  ten  years 
before.  Miss  Garr  then  attempted  to  bribe  the  poor 
woman  who  had  seen  better  times  ;  but  said  that  honor- 
able though  reduced  lady,  "  I  have  too  much  respect  for 
my  six  small  children  to  attempt  to  palm  myself  off  for 
a  bridesmaid.  I  may  be  poor,  but  I  am  not  a  maiden, 
madam." 

Of  course  it  had  been  intimated  to  Amelia,  more  than 
once,  that  as  a  particular  favor,  she  would  be  allowed  to 
stand  up  with  her  old  instructress,  on  the  most  trying  oc- 
casion of  her  life.  Amelia  had  taken  no  notice  whatever 
of  this  benevolence,  but  had  of  late  invariably  left  the 
room  when  Mr.  Shallop  called ;  aware,  as  she  was,  of  the 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  333 

important  part  that  gentleman  had  taken  in  the  late 
disastrous  trial. 

This  last  misfortune  Amelia  had  carefully  concealed 
from  her  invalid  mother,  and  it  was  probably  a  desire 
still  to  keep  her  ignorant  on  that  score,  that  had  pre- 
vented the  indignant  daughter  from  having  a  final  rup- 
ture with  Miss  Garr. 

Mrs.  Clayton  had  come  down  to  the  parlor  on  the  wed- 
ding morning  of  her  old  friend  from  the  State  of  Maine. 
Sophia  was  anxious  that  Mrs.  Clayton,  at  least,  should 
drive  up  to  the  church  in  the  family  carriage,  to  add  eclat 
to  the  great  event.  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Clayton,"  said  her 
amiable  friend,  "  it  may  be  the  last  time  you  will  get  to 
ride  in  the  carriage  before  it  is  sold." 

At  this  allusion  to  an  approaching  calamity,  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton turned  deathly  pale.  Amelia  rose  quickly,  and  dart- 
ing a  menacing  look  at  Sophia,  passed  very  close  to  her 
on  her  way  to  Mrs.  Clayton.  "  Mother,"  said  Amelia, 
smoothing  the  excited  tremor  out  of  her  voice,  as  well  as 
she  could,  "  had  not  you  better  retire  to  your  room  till 
Miss  Garr  has  started  to  the  church  ?  Come,  do  ;  bid 
her  good-by  now,  and  I  will  come  after  you  when  the  ex- 
citement is  over,  and  we  will  walk  on  the  lawn." 

"  Oh,  let  her  stay  a  little  while  longer,  dearest  Amelia," 
said  the  Garr,  returning  the  daughter's  threatening  look 
with  interest.  "  That  is  right,  Mrs.  Clayton,  my  old 
friend.  I  should  be  so  lonesome  without  you,  on  this 
trying  occasion." 

"  I  will  stay  here  a  little  longer,  Sophia ;  but  you  must 
excuse  me  from  going  to  the  church.  I  will  bid  you  good- 
by  before  the  bridegroom  comes,  and  retire  then." 

Amelia  and  Miss  Garr  eyed  each  other  not  very 
lovingly.  "  That  reminds  me,  dearest  Amelia,"  observed 


334  GLOVERSON 

Miss  Sophia,  following  up  her  victory,  still  fighting  over 
Mrs.  Clayton's  body,  as  it  were,  and  over  the  secret 
Amelia  was  struggling  to  conceal,  "  that  reminds  me, 
dearest  Amelia,  that  I  am  sadly  in  need  of  a  bridesmaid, 
and  I  would  like  —  and  in  fact  I  almost  insist  (here  Miss 
Garr's  hard,  sharp  eyes  travelled  hastily  from  Amelia  to 
her  mother,  and  back  to  Amelia,  becoming  brighter  with 
the  threat  intensified)  that  you,  my  favorite  pupil,  shall 
just  jump  into  the  carriage  and  stand  up  with  me.  It 
will  not  take  a  moment,  you  know,  and  I  begin  to  get  so 
nervous,  as  you  can  plainly  see,  that  I  must  make  it  to 
you  as  my  last  command.  I  am  ready,  and  you  don't 
need  the  least  preparation.  Nelson  will  be  along  soon, 
now." 

"  What  do  you  think  about  it,  my  daughter  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Clayton. 

This  considerate  tenderness  on  the  part  of  her  helpless 
parent  almost  unnerved  Amelia,  such  a  change  had  been 
wrought  in  Mrs.  Clayton.  Before  the  great  shock  of 
their  misfortunes,  it  would  have  been  a  petulant  com- 
mand. Mrs.  Clayton  had  been  led  to  hope  that  the 
law  would  restore  everything.  Amelia  had  only  confided 
her  own  hopes  to  her  mother  at  the  commencement  of 
the  trial.  Now  she  could  not ' —  she  dared  not  tell  Mrs. 
Clayton  the  disastrous  truth,  at  least  till  that  poor 
woman  should  have  become  stronger.  What  wonder, 
then,  if  Amelia  did  hesitate*  a  moment  between  her  fear 
lest  Miss  Garr,  in  revenge,  should  disclose  all  suddenly, 
and  her  indignation  at  this  base  dallying  with  a  life,  for 
so  trivial  and  selfish  a  purpose  ? 

"  My  daughter,  will  you  not  say  ?  What  do  you  think 
of  Miss  Garr's  request  ?  " 

"  That  I  cannot,  mother  —  that  I  will  not,  Miss  Garr ! " 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  335 

/ 

was  Amelia's  determined  reply,  as  she  turned  quickly, 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"  You  shall,  Miss !  "  shrieked  Sophia.  "  It  may  be  be- 
cause you  are  jealous  and  spiteful,  since  it  isn't  you  who 
is  going  to  get  married ;  or  it  may  be  that  you  want  to 
make  me  cry  on  my  wedding-day,  so  that  I  may  not  look 
young  and  beautiful ;  and  it  may  be,  Miss,  and  my  dear 
friend,  Mrs.  Clayton,  I  might  as  well  tell  you,  for  she 
never  will,  that  it  is  because  "  — 

"  Thank  Heaven,  mother,  the  carriage  has  come,  and 
he  is  at  the  door.  You  must  not  stand  here  to  give 
countenance  to  a  false-hearted  swindler.  Come,  mother, 
quick,  quick  !  "  and  so  excited  and  flurried  became  poor 
Mrs.  Clayton,  that  Amelia  had  her  out  of  the  room  be- 
fore Miss  Garr  could  complete  the  proposed  revelation, 
or  bid  good-by  to  her  old  friend  from  the  State  of  Maine. 

The  only  luxury  observable  about  Mr.  Shallop's  attire 
was  a  new  pair  of  white  kid  gloves.  They  might  have 
been  white  cotton,  which  would  certainly  have  been 
cheaper.  This  much  he  thought.  They  should  have 
been  almost  any  other  color  in  such  a  marriage.  That 
the  world  thought.  Otherwise,  Mr.  Shallop  was  clothed  in 
his  usual  business  suit,  as  was  severely  proper,  since  this 
was  strictly  a  business  transaction.  After  a  very  hasty 
mercantile  salute  on  the  right  cheek  of  Miss  Sophia, 
which  produced  by  far  the  greatest  impression  on  the 
powder  there,  Mr.  Shallop  demanded  if  everything  was 
ready. 

"  Everything,"  replied  the  bride. 

"^eryth/ng?"  repeated  Mr.  Shallop,  referring,  no 
doubt,  to  the  banking  affair. 

"  Every^mgr,"  again  replied  the  bride,  varying  the  em- 
phasis to  the  last  syllable  of  the  word. 


336  GLOVERSON 

"  Where  are  your  brides-maids  ?  " 

"  They  are  at  the  church,  Nelson,  dear." 

"  Is  that  the  regular  way,  for  brides-maids  to  go  in  ad- 
vance ?  " 

"  No,  Nelson,  love  ;  this  is  an  extraordinary  affair.  I 
shall  have,  I  think,  somewhere  near  thirty  brides-maids." 

"  Thirty  brides-maids  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  twenty  groomsmen." 

"  Why,  this  is  extraordinary,  indeed ;  I  had  only  thought 
of  one." 

"And  where  is  he,  Nelson  ?" 

"Oh,  he  will  be  at  the  church  in  due  time." 

The  fact  is,  Mr.  Shallop  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  press  the  bank-porter  into  that  service,  or  any 
other  service  demanded  by  the  exigencies  of  this  mar- 
riage business,  which,  from  its  remote  connection  with 
stock  transactions,  Nelson  did  not  quite  understand. 

While  the  foregoing  conversation  went  on,  Miss  Garr 
and  Mr.  Shallop  were  wondering  why  somebody  belong- 
ing to  the  house  did  not  appear,  to  do  the  honors.  They 
waited  and  waited  —  Miss  Garr  too  proud,  she  averred, 
to  go  to  inquire,  and  Mr.  Shallop  altogether  too  nervous 
to  be  at  his  ease.  Not  even  a  servant  could  be  heard  or 
seen.  Miss  Garr,  finally,  looking  out  of  the  window,  dis- 
covered John,  the  coachman,  strapping  her  own  trunk  to 
the  back  of  the  carriage  which  had  brought  Mr.  Shallop. 

Without  another  word,  Miss  Garr  took  the  little  clerk's 
arm  and  walked  out  of  the  elegant  house. 

John,  the  coachman,  now  stood  at  the  gate,  evidently 
waiting  for  them. 

"  I  suppose,"  simpered  Sophia,  as  the  couple  walked 
down  the  lawn,  "  that  faithful  creature  John,  who  was 
always  attached  to  me  —  and  what  can  they  see  in  me  to 
become  attached  to,  Nelson,  dear  ? " 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  337 

"  Your  par  value  —  I  mean,  your  inestimable  worth," 
replied  Mr.  Shallop,  gloomily. 

"  That  faithful  creature  John,  I  was  going  to  say,  must 
have  some  little  felicitation  to  offer  us.  We  must  en- 
courage such  people,  you  know,  Nelson,  although  they 
are  vulgar.  Good-day,  and  good-by,  John." 

"  Good-by,  and  bad  'cess  to  ye,  Miss  Gi-arr ! " 

"  Playful,  isn't  he,  Nelson  ?  "  said  Miss  Garr,  with  an 
encouraging  nod  to  anybody  in  particular,  except  Mr. 
Shallop,  or  John,  the  coachman. 

"  Ye'll  come  back,  no  doubt,  to  be  hanged  ?  "  continued 
the  credulous  John. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  demanded  Mr.  Shallop. 

"  Come  away,  Nelson,  love,  we  have  encouraged  his 
playfulness  enough ;  he  may  become  rude." 

"  What  do  I  mane,  is  it  ?  I  mane,  sur,  that  Mr.  Bane- 
son,  who  is  a  la-yer,  has  as  well  as  promised  to  have 
that  auld  divil's  widdy  hanged,  sur.  And  I  belave  he'll 
do  it." 

ft  Come  on,  Nelson,  the  minister  must  be  waiting." 

"  Yis,  go  on  wid  ye  !  It  would  be  a  disgrace  to  me  to 
be  brakin'  ather  of  yer  bones  widout  ye  come  back.  I 
give  ye  fair  warning,  I  am  going  to  slape  in  front  of  this 
gate  to-night.  I  have  my  young  missus'  orthers,  God 
bliss  her ;  and  it  isn't  for  wages  I'm  serving  her  now, 
for  I'll  niver  take  'em.  *•  I  has  her  orthers  that  nather  of 
yez  comes  through  this  gate  again,  and  I'd  like  to  see 
yez." 

Many  other  remarks  of  a  like  determined  nature,  on 
the  part  of  the  coachman,  were  gradually  lost  upon  the 
ears  of  the  "  bride  "  and  "  bridegroom,"  who  were  now 
driven  hastily  toward  the  church.  The  couple  were  for- 
tunately not  superstitious,  or  this -might  have  been  looked 


338  GLOVERSON 

upon  as  a  somewhat  cloudy  beginning  to  their  wedding- 
day.  Miss  Sophia  occupied  herself,  while  in  the  carriage, 
by  adjusting  a  large  bunch  of  orange-flowers  to  her  travel- 
ling hat,  remarking,  at  intervals,  to  the  melancholy  Nel- 
son, that  she  must  have  something  to  show  people  she 
was  a  bride  —  after  the  ceremony.  "  Because,  Nelson, 
love,"  said  Sophia,  "  because  they  might  not  know.  We 
are  so  sly  about  it ;  aren't  we,  Nelson  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  emitted  Mr.  Shallop,  still  gloomily.  "  Are  you 
very  sure  everything  is  ready  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  but  how  can  you  think  of  such  things, 
when  here  we  are,  and  there  they  are,  with  their  moth- 
ers ?  Oh  !  isn't  it  delightful  ?  " 

Mr.  Shallop  looked  as  if  he  were  of  a  very  opposite 
opinion,  when,  descending  from  the  carriage,  he  and 
Sophia  were  surrounded  by  a  clamorous  brood  of  from 
fifty  to  sixty  young  children  —  being,  in  fact,  the  entire 
primary  class  over  which  Miss  Garr  had  lately  presided 
as  teacher.  The  orange-flowers  from  Sophia's  travelling 
hat  were  scattered  like  thistle-down  before  the  vigorous 
affection  of  the  youngsters.  The  less  hearty,  but  by  no 
means  less  obstreperous,  who  could  not  get  near  enough 
to  pull  and  haul  their  dear  teacher  for  kisses,  were  forced 
to  content  themselves  by  scrambling  for  these  flowers  as 
they  fell  on  the  outskirts  of  the  noisy  throng.  Mr.  Shal- 
lop's new  kids  were  utterly  ruined  before  he  could  reach 
an  elevated  position  on  the  church  steps,  and  warn  the 
children  away.  Here  he  stood  at  bay,  waiting  till  Miss 
Garr  could  fight  her  own  way  clear  of  her  late  pupils,  and 
their  mothers,  and  their  mothers'  friends  —  all  of  whom, 
excepting  probably  the  exceeding  number  of  infants  in 
arms,  had  come,  by  special  request,  to  do  honor  to  the 
occasion. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  339 

When  Sophia  finally  reached  her  Nelson,  her  face  was 
literally  spotted ;  so  much  powder  and  "  liquid  pearl " 
had  been  carried  away  on  the  young  lips  assailing  her. 

All  this  time  the  minister  and  certain  curious  people 
of  the  neighborhood  were  waiting  in  the  body  of  the 
church.  The  couple,  now  locking  arms,  marched  down 
the  aisle,  followed  by  the  school  children,  two  by  two, 
and  their  mothers  and  mothers'  friends  three  by  three, 
and  five  by  five,  just  as  it  happened,  without  special  ref- 
erence to  anything  but  the  front  seats.  After  a  great 
deal  of  whispering  and  some  crying  on  the  part  of  the 
babies  in  arms,  silence  reigned ;  and,  the  couple  stand- 
ing in  front  of  the  altar  railing,  the  ceremony  commenced. 

The  minister  had  not  proceeded  far,  when  a  man 
walked  hastily  down  the  aisle,  and  handed  a  little  piece 
of  folded  paper  to  the  bridegroom.  "  All  right,"  whis- 
pered Mr.  Shallop,  "now  stand  by  to  give  away  the 
bride." 

"  Blazes,  man  ! "  whispered  back  the  bank -porter,  for 
he  it  was,  of  course,  "  look  at  me !  " 

Now  the  bank-porter  did  present  rather  an  excited, 
as  well  as  youthful  appearance  —  to  say  nothing  of 
his  excessive  perspiration  —  for  a  representative  of  the 
bride's  father,  especially  when  that  bride  was  Miss  So- 
phia Garr. 

"  Never  mind,"  returned  Nelson,  "  we  are  getting 
along  finely  without  brides-maids  and  grooms,  but  we 
must  have  a  father,  I  am  told.  You  must,  you  must ! " 

And  the  bank-porter  sat  down  to  breathe  and  other- 
wise prepare  himself  against  the  time  when  he  should  be 
called  upon. 

"  Nelson,  wilt  thou,"  said  the  minister,  who  meantime 
had  proceeded  with  the  service,  "wilt  thou  have  this 


340  GLOVERSON 

Woman  to  thy  wedded  wife ;  to  live  together  after  God's 
ordinance  in  the  holy  estate  of  Matrimony  ?  Wilt  thou 
love  her,  comfort  her,  honor,  and  keep  her  in  sickness 
and  in  health  ;  and,  forsaking  all  others,  keep  thee  only 
unto  her,  so  long  as  ye  both  shall  live  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  quoth  Nelson. 

The  minister  now  looked  up,  clearly  manifesting  the 
first  interest  he  had  taken  in  the  ceremony. 

All  eyes,  including  those  of  the  children's  mothers 
and  the  children's  mothers'  friends,  and  of  the  curious 
people  of  the  neighborhood,  and  of  the  bank-porter,  and 
of  Miss  Sophia  Garr  herself,  were  rivetted  on  the  bride- 
groom. One  or  two  infants,  awakened  by  the  sudden 
stillness,  screamed  terribly ;  but  Nelson  never  raised  his 
eyes  from  the  little  piece  of  paper  which  he  held  un- 
folded before  him. 

"  He  must  have  made  the  mistake  unconsciously,  or  he 
might  not  have  heard  the  question,"  thought  the  min- 
ister, as  he  repeated  — "  Nelson,  wilt  thou  have  this 
Woman  to  thy  wedded  wife ;  to  live  together  after  God's 
ordinance  in  the  holy  estate  of  Matrimony?  Wilt  thou 
love  her,  comfort  her,  honor,  and  keep  her  in  sickness 
and  in  health ;  and,  forsaking  all  others,  keep  thee  only 
unto  her,  so  long  as  ye  both  shall  live  ?  " 

"  No-o !  "  quoth  Nelson  again. 

"  Just  because  I  forgot  it.  Oh !  "  shrieked  Miss  Garr, 
who  had  done  nothing  of  the  kind,  having  from  the  first, 
as  will  be  remembered,  decided  to  buy  a  husband  with- 
out paying  a  cent.  "  You  horrid,  designing,  mercenary 
monster ! "  concluded  Sophia,  with  another  shriek.  Then 
she  performed  the  most  sincere  action  of  her  whole  life 
—  in  fact,  the  only  bond  fide  deed  of  its  peculiar  kind  on 
record  against  that  much  injured  spinster.  Miss  So- 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  341 

phia  Garr  fainted,  and  fell  into  the  arms  of  the  bank- 
porter. 

Darting  an  angry  look  at  the  unconscious  bride  that 
was  to  be,  Mr.  Nelson  Shallop  wavered  down  the  aisle 
toward  the  church  door,  amid  the  pushes,  pinches,  slaps, 
and  general  vituperation  of  the  sympathetic  children's 
mothers  and  children's  mothers'  friends  ;  and  amid  the 
wailings  of  all  the  primary  pupils  of  both  genders,  as 
also  the  desolate  bowlings  of  the  full  force  of  babies  in 
arms. 

At  the  door,  Nelson  was  politely  touched  on  the  arm 
by  a  gentleman  with  a  silver  star  on  his  breast :  "  Mr. 
Shallop,  you  are  my  prisoner,  sir." 
"Mr.  Shallop  was  stunned. 

"  On  what  warrant  ?  "  gasped  the  terrified  little  man, 
as  soon  as  he  could  speak. 

"Oh,  here  it  is!"  replied  the  officer.  "Perjury  is 
one  of  the  charges." 

"  I  am  ready,"  said  Mr.  Shallop,  huskily.  And  he 
was  borne  away  to  prison. 

Miss  Garr  was  finally  restored  by  the  minister's  pres- 
ence of  mind  and  a  little  water,  he  having  cleared  the 
church  first  of  the  children,  and  their  mothers,  and  their 
mothers'  friends,  who  had  made  such  a  sympathetic  and 
tumultuous  rush  upon  Miss  Sophia,  that  the  unfortunate 
bank-porter  fell  before  it,  and  came  near  continuing  his 
journey  precipitately  to  the  next  world  in  company  with 
the  lady  of  whose  parent  he  had  expected  to  be  the  juve- 
nile representative. 

Miss  Garr's  trunk  was  still  strapped  to  the  back  of  the 
carriage  which  Mr.  Shallop,  not  having  paid  for,  had  left 
behind.  This  reminded  her  of  "  that  faithful  creature  " 
John,  the  coachman,  and  his  threats.  She  did  not  feel 


342  GLOVERSON 

equal  to  attempt  carrying  the  Clayton  gate  by  storm,  es- 
pecially since  Amelia  had  taken  the  command  of  the 
house  beyond  into  her  own  hands.  Miss  Garr  was 
driven,  therefore,  to  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Leadbetter. 
Here  she  was  sure  of  a  feeling  reception  ;  because,  some 
late  cruel  reports  having  got  afloat  about  Mrs.  Lead- 
better,  and  her  husband  having  had  them  investigated 
by  a  judge  and  jury,  a  divorce  had  been  granted  to  that 
heartless  man,  and  Mrs.  Leadbetter  had  been  retired 
without  alimony  from  attendance  at  her  former  aristo- 
cratic mansion  on  Rincon  Hill. 

Mrs.  Leadbetter  received  Miss  Garr  with  open  arms 
and  open  mouth.  When  this  additional  proof  of  the  in- 
constancy of  men  had  been  confided  to  her,  Mrs.  Lea'd- 
better  wept  sympathetic  tears,  and  Sophia  Garr  wept 
other  sympathetic  tears,  and  they  both  vowed  it  was  a 
heartless  world. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  343 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

HENRY    COMES. 

SINCE  the  illness  of  Aunty  Owen,  Amos  had  an  ex- 
cuse for  going  boldly  to  the  "  Seminary  of  Fashion," 
every  afternoon.  Thence,  accompanied  by  Amelia,  he 
would  proceed  to  the  little  tenement  on  Telegraph  Hill. 
It  was  on  the  day  after  the  events  of  the  last  chapter 
that  they  arrived  at  Aunty  Owen's  earlier  than  usual. 
The  nurse  met  them  with  a  cheerful  smile,  and  assured 
them  the  fever  was  gone.  The  doctor  had  not  yet  been 
there  that  day,  but  the  nurse  felt  sure  her  charge  would 
now  get  well.  "  For  see,"  said  the  woman  in  triumph, 
"  she  is  asleep ! " 

While  Amos  and  Amelia  were  discussing,  in  whispers, 
certain  little  plans  for  the  future  aid  and  comfort  of 
Aunty  Owen,  Andrew  Gloverson  entered.  Learning  the 
state  of  the  case,  he,  too,  had  no  doubt  that  the  patient 
would  recover,  albeit  the  good  old  fellow  in  this,  as  in  all 
cases  of  the  kind,  consulted  his  heart,  rather  than  his 
head. 

As  a  particular  favor,  Mr.  Gloverson  was  let  into  the 
secret  of  the  plans  Amos  and  Amelia  were  making  for 
the  benefit  of  the  convalescent.  He  offered  certain 
amendments  and  modifications,  and  while  they  were  set- 
tling these  things  among  themselves,  the  doctor's  rap 
was  heard  at  the  door. 


344  GLOVERSOX 

"  The  fever's  gone,  and  she  is  asleep,"  said  the  nurse, 
as  she  let  him  in. 

"  Indeed  ?  "  and  the  doctor,  with  a  bow  to  those  pres- 
ent, walked  to  the  bedside  of  Aunty  Owen. 

Then  there  was  a  long  silence. 

"  Doctor,  is  she  not  better  ?  "  asked  Amelia  at  last, 
approaching  the  bed.  The  physician  shook  his  head,  but 
Amelia  did  not  see  him,  for  at  the  sound  of  her  voice 
Aunty  Owen  opened  her  eyes  and  smiled  faintly. 

"  She  knows  her"  said  Andrew  Gloverson  huskily. 

"  The  crisis  is  passed,"  observed  the  doctor. 

"  And  she  will  get  well  ?  "  asked  Andrew  hopelessly. 

"  The  crisis  is  passed,"  repeated  the  doctor,  shaking 
his  head. 

"  Not  yet ;  see  !  "  said  Andrew,  "  she  is  reviving.  Her 
hands  move  and  her  lips  —  listen  !  " 

"  Water,"  said  Aunty  Owen  feebly. 

The  nurse  brought  a  draught,  and  Amelia  offered  it. 

Aunty  Owen  motioned  it  away,  and  turning  her  head, 
pointed  feebly  toward  the  window,  and  again  said,  louder 
than  before,  "  Water." 

"  She  wants  to  look  out  upon  the  sea,"  exclaimed 
Andrew  Gloverson  quickly.  "  She  always  did.  She 
always  sat  there  by  the  window.  Let  us  move  the  bed 
so  she  can  see  the  ocean.  That's  where  she  thinks  her 
lost  boy  is  coming  from,  poor  thing  ! " 

The  bed  was  placed  in  front  of  the  little  window.  As 
they  propped  her  up  on  pillows,  and  she  looked  toward 
the  distant  Pacific,  a  gleam  spread  over  her  face,  like 
that  of  the  afternoon  sun  upon  the  quiet  waters.  Her 
eye  brightened,  and  she  said,  in  almost  her  usual  voice, 
"  Henry  is  coming,  Henry  is  coming." 

Andrew  Gloverson  now  took  the  physician  to  the  fur- 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  345 

ther  end  of  the  room,  and,  in  a  whisper,  plied  him  with 
eager  questions. 

Amelia's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  she  still  sat  by  the 
bedside  holding  one  of  Aunty  Owen's  hands.  Amos 
drew  his  chair  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  bed,  and  took 
up  Aunty  Owen's  other  hand.  "  Henry  .... 
coming  .  .  .  coming,"  —  and  by  a  strange  move- 
ment, in  the  light  of  dawning  reason  and  in  the  attempt 
to  speak,  Aunty  Owen  placed  the  hand  of  Amelia  in 
that  of  Amos. 

Then,  before  their  hands  were  unclasped,  a  smile 
parted  Aunty  Owen's  lips,  and  she  said,  "  Henry  has 
come ! " 

The  smile  still  lingered  about  her  face,  but  her  heart 
had  ceased  to  beat. 


346  GLOVERSON 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

DRIFTING. 

* 

THE  grass  had  taken  root  upon  the  grave  of  Aunty 
Owen,  at  Lone  Mountain,  on  the  slope  toward  the  sea. 
The  summer  mist,  coming  in  through  the  Golden  Gate, 
dwelt  there  before  passing  on  to  the  city,  and  watered 
the  flowers  Amelia  had  planted.  The  morning  sun 
quickened  them,  and  the  afternoon  wind  tossed  them  to 
and  fro;  while  the  Pacific  on  one  side,  and  the  me- 
tropolis on  the  other  —  two  oceans,  whose  peculiar  tides 
are  separated  by  graves  —  ebbed  and  flowed  on,  as  ever. 

A  new  clerk  was  ensconced  behind  the  gilt  letters  of 
George  Lang's  office  window.  A  private  apartment  in 
the  broker's  safe  was  the  repository  of  his  papers  and  his 
confidence,  Mr.  Shallop's  successor  being  initiated  into 
the  Attic  dialect,  merely,  of  the  stock  business. 

Mr.  Archibald  Beanson  was  present  at  the  preliminary 
examination  of  the  luckless  Nelson,  and  was  not  a  little 
astounded,  as  well  as  delighted  by  the  revelations  there 
made.  He  resolved,  however,  to  subject  his  clients  to 
no  more  disappointments,  provided  his  own  hopes  were 
ill-founded.  So  Mr.  Beanson  set  himself  busily  and  se- 
cretly to  work,  expecting  to  bring  a  joyous  surprise  upon 
the  house  of  Clayton. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  347 

Meantime,  all  of  Mr.  Shallop's  attempts  to  find  the 
heavy  bail  demanded  for  his  release  had  been  skillfully 
defeated  by  Lang,  who,  nevertheless,  grew  daily  more 
impatient  for  the  trial  to  come  on  which  should  make 
him  a  hero  with  the  world.  Even  business  grew  tire- 
some, and  he  was  more  rarely  seen  at  his  office.  He 
dared  not  plunge  again  into  the  reckless  dissipation 
which  had  succeeded  his  last  interviews  with  Amelia, 
and  which,  he  believed,  had  brought  upon  him  the  bodily 
affliction,  so  common  in  the  climate  of  California  —  the 
skeleton  at  this  feast  of  all  the  seasons. 

There  is  a  passage  in  La  Bruyere  he  had  read  in  his 
better  and  more  studious  days,  which  now  kept  ringing 
in  his  ears :  "  All  of  our  evils  come  from  our  inability 
to  be  alone;  from  that  —  gaming,  luxury,  dissipation, 
wine,  women,  ignorance,  slander,  envy,  forgetfulness  of 
ourselves  and  of  God."1 

"  I  must  be  alone,"  thought  Lang.  "  Solitude  will 
cure  me ; "  and  with  the  persistency  of  his  nature  he  car- 
ried out  his  resolve  through  weeks  of  torment.  He  was 
forced  to  put  off  indefinitely  his  revenge  on  Dixon,  or 
even  the  thought  of  it.  The  idea  of  Amos  had  become 
so  connected  with  that  of  Karl's  grave,  in  the  mind  of 
the  broker,  that  he  could  not  think  of  his  rival  without 
seeing  again  the  fatal  letters  on  the  tombstone. 

Lang  betook  himself  at  last  to  his  long-neglected 
books;  but  it  was  only  to  reverse  all  the  brighter  conclu- 
sions of  his  youth,  and  to  blacken  or  obliterate  its  green 
memories:  for,  is  not  youth  a  pleasant  hill-side,  on 
which  manhood  grounds  a  temple  or  an  ash-heap  ? 

l  Tout  notre  mal  vient  de  ne  pouvoir  etre  seuls;  de  la  le  jeu,  le  luxe, 
la  dissipation,  le  vin,  les  femmes,  1'ignorance,  la  medisance,  1'envie, 
Toublie  de  soi-m§me  et  de  Dieu. 


348  GLOVERSON 

It  might  have  been,  partially  the  result  of  Lang's  dis- 
ease, yet  it  was  chiefly  owing  to  his  changed  nature  that, 
if  he  read  Dante,  he  found  Beatrice  a  hateful  woman 
apotheosized.  Ary  Scheifer's  picture  would  swim  be- 
fore his  eyes,  and  it -was  Amelia,  instead  of  Beatrice, 
that  was  crowned,  and  beyond  his  reach.  "  And  this 
was  my  favorite  once,"  said  Lang  to  himself.  "  How 
could  I  have  liked  these  things  ?  Petrarch  was  certainly 
a  bigger  fool  than  Dante,  to  have  given  the  only  real 
love  of  his  life  to  a  woman  who  let  him  go  to  prison,  as 
Amelia  would  be  glad  to  let  me.  Yet  they  say  these 
women  made  these  poets.  Nonsense !  Give  me  the 
times  of  Ovid  and  Propertius,  who  beat,  and  were  beaten 
again  by  their  mistresses.  "Would  that  I  could  beat 
somebody !  Prior  was  the  only  sensible  fellow  of  the 
lot.  His  Chloe  was  a  bar-maid.  La  Bruyere  was  a 
fool,  too,  who  got  his  reputation  by  saying  common  things 
backwards.  What  does  he  know  about  a  disappointed 
—  was  I  going  to  say  lover  ?  Ha,  ha  !  Did  he  ever  see 
the  shapes  that  follow  me  around  ?  Did  he  ever  carry  a 
grave-yard  in  his  mind  ?  Then  talk  about  being  alone  ! 
An  anchorite  must  feed  on  roots  and  herbs.  A  full  man 
in  solitude  would  be  plagued  to  death  with  his  own 
devils.  The  doctor  says  I  must  expect  hallucinations 
with  this  disease  upon  me.  The  doctor  is  another  fool. 
I  must  go  out ;  I  cannot  be  alone  with  Karl's  grave  upon 
my  breast." 

He  would  not  ride,  without  a  friend  to  accompany  him. 
He  mingled  in  the  thickest  of  the  crowd,  during  the  day ; 
and,  at  night,  nothing  but  his  unconquerable  pride  re- 
strained him  from  hiring  a  man  to  sleep  in  his  room. 
In  his  uneasy  slumbers  he  would  hear  strange  voices, 
repeating  slowly  in  his  ear,  keeping  time  with  the  beat- 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  349 

ing  of  his  own  heart,  that  same  sentence  from  La  Bruy- 
ere,  and  he  would  fling  back  and  back  again  the  same 
answer — "I  cannot  be  alone!"  In  the  densest  throng, 
by  day,  he  would  sometimes  hear  men  mouthing  the 
same  hated  dictum  as  they  passed.  It  came  to  him  in 
the  echo  of  familiar  voices.  It  rose  to  him  out  of  the 
clatter  of  the  crowded  street.  Carriages,  omnibuses, 
cars,  and  vans  were  all  laden  with  this  one  horrible 
sentence,  and  George  Lang  could  not  be  alone. 

"  I  will  go  to  the  play  again  to-night,"  said  the  bro- 
ker, throwing  down  the  evening  paper.  "To  think  I 
should  be  forced  to  see  '  Ingomar '  twice  in  succession  — 
that  sentimental  thing,  cut  out  to  fit  what  is  called  the 
power  of  love,  making  a  polished  Greek  of  a  barbarian ! 
It's  a  lie.  Love  makes  the  barbarian  out  of  the  polished 
Greek.  Look  at  me !  Love  has  a  mission  to  reward 
and  punish,  has  it?  Love's  mission  is  injury.  It 
wrongs  itsolf  first  and  its  object  last.  Courtship  is  a 
selfish  exchange  of  injuries,  in  the  wish.  Wedded  life 
is  one  prison  for  two  souls  —  a  long  exchange  of  selfish 
injuries  in  the  deed.  I — I'll  go  to  the  play." 

Lang  took  his  seat  in  the  dress  circle"  near  the  stage, 
where,  almost  unobserved,  he  could  see  the  entire  audi- 
ence. Looking  about  him,  in  all  parts  of  the  full  theatre, 
he  discovered,  in  about  the  centre  of  the  dress  circle  — 
Amos  Dixon  and  Amelia  Clayton.  Lang  attempted  to 
persuade  himself  that  he  was  not  at  all  moved  by  the 
sight,  forgetting  that  the  attempt  itself  was  the  best 
proof  of  its  own  futility.  "  There  he  is,"  thought  the 
broker,  "  loving  her  just  the  same  without  money ;  and 
there  she  is,  loving  him  all  the  more  for  lacking  what  I 
have."  He  turned  his  eyes  excitedly  toward  the  stage 
and  the  players.  "  Well,  can  the  philosophy  of  this  '  In- 


350  GLOVERSON 

gomar '  be  true  after  all  ?  Now,  this  fellow  Dixon  had 
me  brought  back  to  my  hotel  that  night,  and  he  must 
have  seen  the  weapons  on  me  as  clearly  —  as  clearly  as 
I  see  Karl's  grave-stone  now,  and  yet  he  said  nothing 
about  it  to  me  or  the  authorities.  He  certainly  knew 
what  I  was  after,"  mused  Lang.  "  Could  this  have  been 
generosity  to  an  enemy  ;  or  did  he  not  know  that  he  had 
a  pretty  clear  case  against  me  ;  or  did  he  think  —  the 
fool !  —  in  this  way  to  escape  my  sure  revenge  ?  This 
play  is  a  lie  from  beginning  to  end,  but  they"  —  here 
Lang  looked  again  toward  Amos  and  Amelia  —  "  are  too 
deeply  absorbed  in  it,  and  each  other,  to  see  me." 
The  play  went  on  :  — 

Parthenia.    I'll  tell  thee,  mother  —  I  was  but  a  child, 
And  yet  I  marked  it  well ;  you  sang  to  me 
Of  Hero  and  Leander,  and  their  love ; 
And  when  I  asked  thee,  wondering,  what  love  was, 
Then,  with  uplifted  hands,  and  laughing  eyes, 
Thou  told'st  me  how,  into  the  lonely  heart,    . 
Love  sudden  comes  unsought,  then  grows  and  grows  — 

(Amos  and  Amelia  heard  the  rest  of  this  speech,  look- 
ing into  each  other's  eyes.) 

Feehle  at  first,  like  dawn  before  the  sun, 
Till,  bursting  every  bond,  it  breaks  at  last 
Upon  the  startled  soul  with  hope  and  joy, 
While  every  bounding  pulse  cries  "  That  is  he, 
Who  carries  in  his  breast  my  heart,  my  soul : 
With  him  oh  may  I  live,  and  with  him  die !  " 
So,  when  old  Medon  and  Evander  came 
To  woo,  I  laid  my  hand  upon  m}*  heart, 
And  listened,  listened,  but  no !  all  was  still, 
All  silent;  no  response,  no  voice:  and  so 
I'm  waiting,  mother,  till  my  heart  shall  speak! 

AMOS  (in  a  whisper).     "  Has  it  spoken  yet  ?" 
AMELIA.     "  Yes,  long  ago ! " 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  351 

And  it  was  some  time  before  Amos  could  catch  up 
the  thread  of  the  play  again. 

The  first  act  ended,  the  young  couple  sat  gazing  down 
at  the  orchestra,  listening  to  the  music,  apparently  ;  but 
neither  of  them  spoke  till  the  curtain  rose  on  the  second 
act. 

"  There  ! "  exclaimed  Amos,  evidently  relieved. 

"  I  see,"  said  Amelia,  unwontedly  laconic. 

They  were  both  soon  absorbed  again  in  the  play.  The 
scenes  and  passages  most  interesting  to  them,  may  be 
common  and  threadbare  to  you,  gentle  reader  ;  but  when 
was  "  Romeo  and  Juliet "  ever  old  to  a  lover,  and  who 
but  a  lover  ever  understood  it  ? 

Ingomar.    Tell  me  now  about  thy  home  —  I  will  sit  here 
Near  thee. 

Parthenia.    Not  there:  thou  art  crushing  all  the  flowers. 

Ingotnar  (sealing  himself  at  her  feet), 
Well,  well,  I  will  sit  here  then.    And  now,  tell  me, 
What  is  thy  name  ? 

Par.  Parthenia. 

Ing.  Parthenia ! 

A  pretty  name !  and  now,  Parthenia,  tell  me 
How  that  which  thou  call'st  love  grows  in  the  soul; 
And  what  love  is :  'tis  strange,  but  in  that  word 
There's  something  seems,  like  yonder  ocean — fathomless. 

Par.    How  shall  I  say  ?    Love  comes,  my  mother  says, 
Like  flowers  in  the  night  —  reach  me  those  violets. 
It  is  a  flame  a  single  look  will  kindle, 
But  not  an  ocean  quench. 
Fostered  by  dreams,  excited  by  each  thought, 
Love  is  a  star  from  heaven,  that  points  the  way, 
And  leads  us  to  its  home  —  a  little  spot 
In  earth's  dry  desert,  where  the  soul  may  rest  — 
A  grain  of  gold  in  the  dull  sand  of  life  — 
A  foretaste  of  Elysium ;  but  when, 
Weary  of  this  world's  woes,  the  immortal  gods 
Flew  to  the  skies,  with  all  their  richest  gifts, 
Love  stayed  behind,  self-exiled,  for  man's  sake ! 


352  GLOVERSON 

Ing.     I  never  yet  heard  aught  so  beautiful ! 
But  still  I  comprehend  it  not.  .— 

Par.  Nor  I: 

For  I  have  never  felt  it ;  yet  I  know 
A  song  my  mother  sang,  an  ancient  song, 
That  plainly  speaks  of  love,  at  least  to  me: 
How  goes  it?  Stay  — 

[Slowly,  as  trying  to  recollect. 

"  What  love  is,  if  thou  wouldst  be  taught, 

Thy  heart  must  teach  alone  — 
Two  souls  with  but  a  single  thought, 
Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one. 

"  And  whence  comes  love  ?    Like  morning's  light, 

It  comes  without  thy  call ; 
And  how  dies  love  ?    A  spirit  bright, 
Love  never  dies  at  all ! 

"  And  when  —  and  when  "  — 

[Hesitating,  as  unable  to  continue. 
Ing.     Go  on. 

Par.  I  know  no  more. 

Ing.  (Impatiently.)  Try  —  try. 

Par.    I  cannot  now ;  but  at  some  other  time 
I  may  remember. 

Ing.  (Somewhat  authoritatively.)    Now,  go  on,  I  say. 
Par.   (Springing  up  in  alarm.)    Not  now,  I  want  more  roses 

for  my  wreath! 

Yonder  they  grow,  I'll  fetch  them  for  myself. 
Take  care  of  all  my  flowers,  and  the  wreath ! 

[Throws  the  flowers  into  Ingomar's  lap  and  runs  off'. 
Ing.  (After  a  pause,  without  changing  his  position,  speaking  to 

himself  in  deep  abstraction.) 
"  Two  souls  with  but  a  single  thought, 
Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one." 

[The  curtain  falls. 

And  the  young  couple  seemed  surprised  to  find  that 
their  hands  had  stolen  toward  each  other,  and  were 
firmly  clasped  under  the  folds  of  Amelia's  opera-cloak. 

Each  expected  the  other  to  make  the  first  movement 
toward  a  release,  and  so  the  hands  remained  clasped,  till 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  353 

the  music  struck  up.  Then  their  owners  seemed  so  in- 
terested in  the  music  that  the  hands  were  abandoned  to 
their  own  fate  —  which  was  a  closer  pressure  beneath 
the  opera-cloak. 

"  Miss  Clayton,"  said  Amos,  at  length,  in  a  voice  that 
she  only  could  hear. 

"  Well,"  observed  Amelia,  still  wrapped  up  —  in  the 
music. 

"  You  have  always  seemed  to  understand  me,  Miss 
Clayton,  before  I  spoke,  and  sometimes,  when  you  are 
speaking,  you  seem  to  be  uttering  my  thoughts  for  me. 
I  almost  know  we  are  thinking  the  same  now." 

"About  that  music?" 

"  No ;  you  —  you  were  not  thinking  —  about  that 
music,"  faltered  Amos. 

"  Indeed  ?     What  were  rny  thoughts  ?  " 

"  That  you,  like  that  girl  in  the  play,  had  made  me 
better  than  I  was." 

"Then  you  were  wrong.  I  don't  see  that  you  have 
improved  at  all." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  sighed  Amos. 

"/am  not" 

The  look  that  accompanied  this  speech  was  so  vivid  a 
glossary  that  Amos  caught  all  the  hidden  meaning,  and 
he  stumbled  back  to  the  first  thread  of  their  dialogue. 

"  Well,  what  were  you  thinking,  then,  Miss  Clayton  ? 
Was  it  not  something  about  the  play  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Will  you  tell?" 

"Must  I?" 

"  If  you  please." 

"  Well,  that  love  makes  one  fearless." 

"  What,  have  I  been  too  bold,  Miss  Clayton  ?  " 

23 


354  GLOVERSON 

"  Who  ever  knew  that  you  were  in  love  !  How  ridicu- 
lous !  I  mean  that  a  woman  in  love  does  not  care  much 
for  the  Allobrogi  or  Allemanni  of  the  world." 

"  Then  you  are  not  afraid,  Miss  Clayton  ?  " 

"  I  am  fearless,  sir  ! " 

"You  must  be  in  love,  then !  How  ridiculous!"  re- 
joined Amos,  as  the  curtain  rose  on  the  third  act. 

Both  watched  the  stage  intently,  till  Parthenia,  hav- 
ing taken  his  arms  from  Ingomar,  and  given  him  her 
baskef,  is  conducted  toward  her  home,  and  the  curtain 
falls. 

"  Miss  Clayton,"  said  Amos. 

Amelia  answered  merely  by  turning  her  excited  face 
toward  Dixon. 

"  May  I  call  you  Amelia,  hereafter  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  May  I  call  you  my  Amelia  ?  " 

"  If  you  choose." 

"Always?" 

"  Always." 

Here  there  was  a  very  feeling  pressure  of  the  hands 
beneath  the  folds  of  the  opera-cloak,  and  a  long  silence 
• —  interrupted  finally  by  Amos. 

"  Amelia,  my  Amelia  now,  I  know  that  I  am  a  poor 
guide,  but  if  you  will  walk  beside  me  trustingly,  there'll 
always  be  a  home  —  your  home  "and  mine  —  to  come 
to.  You  will  bear  the  weapons,  and  I "  — 

"  No,  I'll  give  you  back  the  sword  and  lean  upon  your 
strength  —  the  strength  of  an  honest,  manly  heart." 

Amos  felt  a  choking  sensation  in  his  throat ;  and  not 
another  word  was  said  by  either,  till  the  close  of  the 
fourth  act. 

"  When,  Amelia !  " 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  355 

"  You  are  the  guide,  now." 

"  I  have  thought,"  said  Amos,  "  that  it  would  be  better, 
just  before  you  have  to  leave  your  old  home.  Then 
your  mother  will  have  a  comfortable  place  to  move  to." 

"  Yes,  but  that,  you  see,  need  not  hurry  us.  I  can  pro- 
vide for  mother  now.  I  get  eighty  dollars  per  month, 
you  know." 

"  Really,  I  had  forgotten  that,"  said  Amos,  blushing 
guiltily. 

"  It  is  I  that  should  blush,"  rejoined  Amelia.  "  Did  I 
not  as  much  as  imply  that  you  were  trying  to  hire  me  ?  " 

""Why,  how?"  asked  Amos,  in  a  louder  voice  than 
he  had  used  that  evening,  for,  somehow,  his  conscience 
smote  him. 

"  Why,  by  offering  me  a  home  as  an  inducement  to 
hasten  the  day.  But  I  don't  believe  you  thought  of  such 
a  thing." 

"  Of  course  not,"  was  Dixon's  ingenuous  reply,  "  for 
that  seems  a  very  long  time,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

Amelia  did  not  answer ;  for,  by  a  strange  chance,  their 
eyes  wandering  in  their  embarrassment  to  the  remote 
part  of  the  dress  circle,  had  met  almost  simultaneously 
those  of  George  Lang. 

Even  at  that  distance,  they  could  see  a  sudden  livid 
flush  spread  over  the  broker's  face.  No  further  recogni- 
tion passed  on  either  side.  The  flush  came  and  went 
again.  Parquette,  galleries,  dress  circle,  and  gas-lights 
swam  before  Lang's  eyes.  His  head  drooped  upon  his 
arm ;  and  Amos  and  Amelia  looked  away,  for  the  last 
act  was  commencing  —  the  last  act  that  was,  to  them,  as 
the  horoscope  of  their  own  future,  so  strangely  now  did 
their  whole  lives  seem  identified  with  the  action  of  the 
play.  As  it  drew  toward  the  close,  a  quiet  satisfaction 


356  GLOVERSON 

settled  upon  Amos.  He  felt  that  his  old  dream  was 
realized.  Amelia  had  beckoned  him  to  the  heights 
by  her  side,  and  he  had  come.  The  sense  of  presump- 
tion passed  away.  A  perfect  love  had  made  them  per- 
fect equals. 

The  play  was  over.  Amos  and  Amelia  went  forth  with 
the  throng  from  the  dress  circle.  The  boys  tumbled 
clamorously  from  the  galleries.  The  proud  moved 
grandly  from  the  boxes.  The  bachelors  'strolled  lei- 
surely from  the  parquette,  and  the  seats  of  the  orchestra 
were  deserted.  The  last  actor  had  left  the  green-room, 
and  the  last  property-man  the  stage.  The  lights 
were  out ;  the  theatre  was  still ;  a  chill  air,  laden  with 
the  smell  of  water-color  paint,  swept  in  from  the  side- 
scenes  ;  and,  there,  in  the  far  corner  of  the  dress  circle, 
sat  George  Lang  with  his  head  drooping  upon  his  arm 
—  dead. 


I 

AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  357 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

FINALE,   IN    WHICH   THE    WHOLE    FIRM   PARTICIPATES. 

IT  was  a  little  past  noon,  and  the  lawn  on  Folsom 
Street  was  flooded  again  with  the  summer  sunshine. 
The  birds  —  two  of  them  now  —  were  singing  in  the 
acacias,  repeating  the  same  crystal  song  Amos  had  heard 
the  first  time  he  beheld  the  elegant  house ;  but  Amos 
was  not  there  now  to  hear  it.  There  was  an  unusual 
stillness  in  the  parlors  and  upper  apartments,  for  you 
would  have  searched  the  whole  beautiful  house  through, 
without  finding  Amelia  or  her  mother. 

An  occasional  peal  of  laughter,  however,  rising  from 
the  regions  of  the  kitchen,  would  have  been  proof  enough 
that  the  elegant  house  was  not  deserted.  In  fact,  there 
was  an  extraordinary  number  of  people  assembled  in  a 
little  dining-room  in  those  savory  precincts,  and  John, 
the  coachman,  was  holding  forth  at  great  length  to  those 
collected  there  around  the  table.  The  laughter  pro- 
ceeded from  certain  "  lady  friends "  of  the  cook  and 
house-maid,  and  from  six  gentlemen  all  dressed  exactly 
alike,  in  cut-away  coats,  white  vests,  and  white  neck-ties. 
These  ladies  and  gentlemen  spoke  exceedingly  bad  gram- 
mar, but  in  the  matter  of  feasting  they  were  exemplary, 
both  as  regards  natural  capacity  and  cultivated  execution. 
John,  the  coachman,  was  giving  them  the  benefit  of  cer- 
tain personal  reminiscences,  wherein  he  detailed  his 
last  business  transactions  with  "  Miss  Gi-arr." 


358  GLOVERSON 

That  lady,  it  seems,  had  made  a  desperate  attempt  to 
see  Mrs.  Clayton,  and  failing  in  that,  had  presented  a 
bill  for  a  month's  salary.  John  had  taken  the  responsi- 
bility of  tearing  the  bill  aforesaid  into  small  pieces,  of 
placing  these  pieces  carefully  into  the  messenger's  hat. 
and  of  crushing  the  hat  dexterously  over  its  owner's 
head.  Then  John,  by  a  skillful  movement  of  his  foot, 
had  accelerated  the  messenger's  return  to  the  present 
residence  of  Miss  Garr.  "  And,"  concluded  the  coach- 
man, "  here's  one  that'll  stop  with  my  young  missis, 
whither  she's  married  or  no  ;  what's  that  to  me  ?  " 

"  "What,  indeed  ?  "  asked  the  cook,  who  immediately 
afterwards  thought  she  would  do  the  same  as  John,  the 
coachman,  "  respecting,  of  course,"  she  added  blushingly, 
"  respecting  of  our  young  missus." 

The  cook,  in  a  word,  had  changed  her  mind  about  the 
villainy  of  John,  the  coachman,  since  he  had  changed  his 
course  toward  her. 

"  Yes,  John,  I  will  go  with  you,  too." 

"Ye  would,  would  ye  though,"  replied  the  coachman, 
tapping  her  lovingly  under  the  chin.  From  this,  and 
other  little  blandishments  that  passed  between  them,  it 
seemed  highly  probable  to  the  rest  of  the  company  that 
this  couple  would  hereafter  go  together  wherever  they 
went. 

"  Hillo  !  "  exclaimed  John,  looking  up  toward  the 
kitchen  door,  "  what's  that  ?  " 

"  Good  day,  gentlemans  and  ladies.  I  saw  it !  It  was 
so  peautiful*.  It's  all  vorbei  any  more.  I  gome  avay 
quick,  ven  Mr.  Dixon  said  I  must  haf  a  garriage  an'  I 
didn't  vant  to.". 

A  snicker  was  stopped  suddenly  on  its  way  around  the 
table  by  John,  the  coachman,  who  said  with  much  gravity 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  359 

and  dignity :  "  Yer  welcome,  ma'am,  as  a  frind  of  Mr, 
Dixon's,  and  no  doubt  ye  air.  He's  a*rnan  as  don't  for- 
get his  frinds,  whoiver  they  air.  Dhraw  up,  till  we  drinks 
to  the  healt  of  the  bridegroom  agin." 

This  toast  was  stanchly  quaffed  by  the  six  gentle- 
men in  full  dress,  who  were  no  less  than  extra  ser- 
vants employed  on  this  occasion.  The  six  gentlemen  in 
full  dress  now  kept  their  eyes  on  the  kitchen  door,  hop- 
ing, probably,  for  some  fresh  arrival,  and  a  fresh  toast  to 
drink. 

"  Anton  gouldn't  gum,"  continued  Frau  Carpenter, 
formerly  Zimmermann,  "  but  oh !  de  pride  vas  so  peauti- 
ful,  so  peautiful !  " 

"  Trath,  she's  a  frind  of  the  whole  family,"  exclaimed 
John.  "  Here's  me  hand,  ma'am.  I'm  glad  ye  come. 
Fill  up  to  the  bride  agin  avery  one  of  yez." 

"  We're  indeed  glad  you  come,"  remarked  one  of  the 
six  gentlemen  in  full  dress,  as  he  held  his  glass  up  to  his 
eye  after  the  manner  of  connoisseurs. 

"  Indeed  we  are,  indeed  we  are,"  echoed  the  five  other 
gentlemen  in  full  dress  ;  and  the  toast  was  drunk  standing. 

The  sound  of  many  carriages  was  now  heard  upon  the 
street.  "  There  they  come  from  -the  church  !  "  exclaimed 
one  and  all,  and  the  revelers  hastened  to  their  posts. 

First  came  Amos,  with  Amelia  leaning  gracefully  on 
his  arm.  They  walked  up  the  lawn  in  silence.  Yet 
above  the.  bustle  of  the  carriages  without,  and  above  the 
clatter  of  feet  upon  the  gravel  walk,  rose,  as  out  of  the 
summer  sunshine,  the  song  of  the  little  birds  in  the 
acacias.  Amos  and  Amelia  both  heard  it  now,  and  there 
rose,  as  out  of  the  sunshine  of  their  united  hearts,  a  quiet 
little  epithalamium,  very  much  like  the  sweet  trouble  of 
the  songs  the  mated  birds  have  sung,  year  after  year, 
since  the  creation. 


360  GLOVERSON 

Arrived  in  the  spacious  parlors,  Mrs.  Clayton  and  Miss 
de  la  Pierre,  having  kissed  the  bride,  were  absorbed  in 
the  contemplation  of  the  numerous  presents.  As  she 
showed  them  one  after  the  other  to  Miss  de  la  Pierre, 
Mrs.  Clayton  observed,  confidentially,  "  I,  for  one,  Miss 
de  la  Pierre,  have  always  said  that  Mr.  Dixon  was  no 
fool ;  and  -these  presents  confirm  me  in  my  opinion  and 
reconcile  me  to  my  daughter's  and  my  own  fate." 

"  Oh  laws,  yes  !  "  was  Miss  de  la  Pierre's  reply,  "  and 
he  is  so  romantic ! " 

"  But  would  you  believe  it,  Miss  de  la  Pierre  —  whist, 
do  you  see  Mr..Gloverson  ?" 

"  No ;  he  just  went  out  into  the  hall  with  Mr.  Bean- 
son,"  replied  the  little  lady,  all  curiosity. 

"  Well,  would  you  believe  it,  now  ? "  repeated  Mrs. 
Clayton,  "  there  are  those  beautiful  pearls  from  Captain 
and  Mrs.  Tambol  of  Sonoma  —  by  the  way,  Mrs.  Tam- 
bol,  I  think  to  be  a  very  proper  sort  of  person,  Miss  de 
la  Pierre,  and  I  am  glad  that  my  health  is  almost  re- 
stored, so  that  I  am  able  to  see  her  and  visit  with  her, 
you  know.  Then,  there  is  even  that  modest  locket  from 
Mr.  Beanson.  That  magnificent  silver  card-receiver  full 
of  gold  coin  —  I  wonder  who  sent  that !  but  will  you  be- 
lieve it?  Miss  de  la  Pierre,  in  all  this  list  of  presents, 
there  is  not  a  solitary  thing  from  that  Mr.  Gloverson. 
Not  a  solitary  thing.  I  think  —  well  it's  no  matter,  for 
here  he  comes  !  " 

Andrew  Gloverson  had,  indeed,  returned  from  the 
hall  at  that  moment,  arm  in  arm  with  Mr.  Archibald 
Beanson,  exchanging  sundry  knowing  nods  and  panto- 
mimes with  that  astute  gentleman.  Both  had  honored 
the  occasion  with  a  brand-new  suit  of  clothes.  Mr.  Bean- 
son,  to  give  him  his  due,  never  looked  younger  in  the 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  361 

face,  or  less  awkward  in  the  body.  Mr.  Gloverson,  re- 
leasing the  arm  of  his  companion,  stepped  deliberately 
into  the  middle  of  the  parlor,  where  Amos  and  Amelia, 
surrounded  by  their  groomsmen  and  brides-maids,  were 
receiving  the  hearty  congratulations  of  the  guests.  This 
movement  on  his  part  attracted  every  eye  to  the  portly 
frame  of  Andrew,  whose  elegant  rotundity  was  set  off  to 
the  highest  advantage  by  the  extraordinary  fit  of  his 
attire.  A  well-known  movement  of  his  neck  in  his  large 
white  cravat  impressed  Amos  immediately  that  there  was 
something  on  his  old  employer's  mind.  The  bridegroom 
turned  and  said  something  hurriedly  to  Amelia,  which 
caused  her  face  to  beam,  as  with  a  new  joy ;  and  she  im- 
mediately after  said  something  hurriedly  to  the  brides- 
maids, which  caused  many  other  eyes  to  beam,  and  a 
quick  answer  to  come  back  from  several  sparkling  voices. 
It  is  very  probable  that  all  this  talking  in  an  under-tone 
was  on  the  same  subject,  and  if  Mr.  Gloverson  had  been 
listening,  he  might  have  heard  the  chorus  of  voices  re- 
peating mysteriously,  "  We  will,  we  will ! "  But  Mr.  Glov- 
erson, seeing  the  impression  he  had  already  made,  was 
now  absorbed  in  smoothing  and  tightening  his  gloves. 
He  continued  this  operation  until  one  of  them  gave  way 
under  the  pressure.  Then,  not  stirring  from  the  position 
he  had  first  taken  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  Andrew 
Gloverson  said :  "  I  have  already  congratulated  you, 
young  people,  one  of  whom  is  an  angel,  by  the  way ;  but 
—  but  I  have  not  (here  Andrew's  other  glove  gave  way) 
in  fact,  we  all  have  not  —  no,  I  haven't  seen  any  of  us. 
It  might  have  happened,  when  I  was  out  with  my  friend, 
Mr.  Beanson,  but  we  should  have  heard  it,  and  I  am  sure 
he  hasn't.  The  fact  is,"  said  Mr.  Gloverson,  tapping  his 
breast  to  encourage  himself  in  his  new  start,  u  we  haven't 


362  GLOVERSON 

kissed  the  bride  !  "  The  senior  partner  of  the  house  of 
Gloverson  &  Co.,  looking  about  impressively  for  a  mo- 
ment, continued :  "  And,  my  dear  Miss  —  no,  Mrs.  Dixon, 
it  will  not  take  long." 

The  jaunty  air  with  which  the  gallant  Andrew  now 
stepped  up,  took  Amelia  by  the  hand,  and  bent  over  till 
just  the  tips  of  his  lips  touched  hers,  must  be  imagined. 
This,  however,  was  the  signal  for  an  event  most  astound- 
ing to  Andrew  Gloverson.  For,  before  the  old  gentle- 
man had  again  assumed  an  upright  position,  one  of  the 
brides-maids,  a  beautiful  school-mate  of  Amelia,  caught 
him  around  the  neck  and  kissed  him,  and,  amid  a  peal  of 
laughter,  sprung  back  into  the  lovely  throng.  While 
Andrew  was  looking  after  her,  another  brides-maid  came 
up  from  another  direction,  sprung  upon  his  neck,  kissed 
him,  and  disappeared.  Mr.  Gloverson  was  still  looking 
in  the  direction  of  the  last  disappearance,  when  another 
brides-maid  performed  the  same  astounding  feat.  The 
increasing  bewilderment  of  the  old  merchant  and  the 
merriment  of  the  company  kept  pace,  and  were  now  well- 
nigh  boundless.  To  cap  the  climax,  at  another  sugges- 
tion of  Amos  and  Amelia,  the  whole  five  .brides-maids 
made  a  simultaneous  attack  upon  Andrew,  and  kissed 
him  vigorously  once  more.  Mr.  Gloverson  finally  found 
speech,  and  it  came  very  near  being  an  unfortunate  one. 
"  I'll  be,"  said  Mr.  Gloverson,  «  I'll  be  —  I'll  be  —  kissed 
no  more ! "  and  he  retired  precipitately  to  wipe  the 
gathering  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

Mrs.  Clayton,  whose  attention,  with  that  of  Miss  de  la 
Pierre,  had  been  attracted  by  this  extraordinary  occur- 
rence, intimated  to  her  new-made  friend  that  she  was 
not  sure  about  such  things.  It  might  be  very  improper 
on  an  occasion  like  this, 


.      AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  363 

"  I  would  not  venture  an  opinion,"  responded  Miss  de 
la  Pierre,  "  about  what  happens  in  your  own  house,  Mrs. 
Clayton,  but  really  it  was  so  romantic." 

Not  long  afterwards  the  wedding  breakfast  was  an- 
nounced. Mr.  Beanson,  approaching  Mrs.  Clayton,  of- 
fered his  arm,  and  Mr.  Gloverson,  still  bearing  on  his 
face  evidences  of  collusion  with  Archibald,  approaching 
Mrs.  de  la  Pierre,  offered  his  arm  ;  and  they  joined  the 
little  procession  now  moving  toward  the  breakfast- room. 
Amos,  of  course,  took  the  head  of  the  table,  sustained  on 
each  side  by  Mrs.  Clayton  and  Amelia.  Andrew  Glov- 
erson sat  at  the  end  opposite  Mr.  Dixon,  with  our  old 
Sonoma  friends,  Captain  and  Mrs.  Tambol  on  one  hand, 
and  Miss  de  la  Pierre  on  the  other.  The  handsome 
groomsmen  and  the  fair  brides-maids,  suiting  their  own 
tastes  and  inclinations,  placed  themselves  about  the  table, 
very  much  as  the  floVers  had  been  placed  on  the  table 
— just  where  they  would  most  add  to  the  general  bril- 
liance of  the  scene.  The  room  was  darkened ;  and  if 
Amelia,  in  her  dress  of  spotless  satin,  and  lace  .bridal  veil 
—  streaming  from  her  head  like  the  embodied  fragrance 
of  the  orange-blossoms  in  her  hair  —  had  been  beauti- 
ful in  the  mellow  light  of  the  church,  how  lovely  must 
she  have  been  now  in  the  gas-light,  reflected  and  soft- 
ened by  these  garlands,  bright  faces,  and  elegant  toilets. 

Captain  Tambol  pronounced  the  champagne  excel- 
lent, and  confidently  asserted  that  he  hoped  in  a  few 
years  to  make  as  good  Roederer,  if  not  better,  at  his  vine- 
yard in  Sonoma.  He  made  sundry  allusions  to  the  rich 
secrets  already  stowed  away  in  his  own  cellar,  whereat 
Amos  looked  uneasy.  A  severe  pinch,  inflicted  by  Mrs. 
Tambol  in  a  very  secret  manner,  had  the  effect  of  re- 


364  GLOVERSON 

straining  the  jolly  captain,  or  the  company  might  have 
had  the  full  benefit  of  Dixon's  former  maudlin  experi- 
ences. The  captain  afterwards  averred  that  he  would 
willingly  have  given  a  pipe  of  his  best  wine  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  telling  that  story  then  and  there;  and  it  is  in- 
deed possible  that  he  would  have  told  it,  nevertheless, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  events  that  now  followed  in  quick 
succession. 

Just  as  kindly  Mrs.  Tambol  inflicted  the  pinch  upon 
her  husband,  Miss  de  la  Pierre  exclaimed :  "  Oh  laws ! 
who  would  have  thought  it ! " 

O 

Then  little  Miss  de  la  Pierre,  formerly  Stone,  discov- 
ering that  she  was  the  target  of  all  eyes,  blushed  and  sub- 
sided. 

Mr.  Gloverson  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  looked  all 
about  the  table,  took  up  his  knife  and  fork  again,  and  re- 
sumed his  eating. 

"  Now,  who  would  have  thought  it !  It  was  so  roman- 
tic ! " 

This  time  Amos,  as  well  as  Mr.  Gloverson,  paused  and 
eyed  Miss  de  la  Pierre  curiously;  but  she,  blushing 
again,  was  absorbed  in  a  piece  of  cold  chicken,  which 
occupied  the  foreground  on  her  plate. 

Amos  was  evidently  troubled,  but  Mr.  Gloverson, 
doubting  exactly  what  to  do,  helped  everybody  within 
reach  to  wine. 

"  Oh  laws ! "  iterated  little  Miss  de  la  Pierre,  "  but  I 
must  not  tell ! " 

"  Yes,  do  —  do  tell,"  said  Andrew  Gloverson. 

«  Oh!  shall  I?" 

"  Not,"  faltered  Amos,  "  if  you  have  promised  not  to 
tell." 

This  attracted  the  attention  of  the  whole  company  to 
the  bridegroom,  who  also  blushed,  of  course. 


AND  HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS.  365 

"  It  is  something  so  romantic ! "  observed  Miss  de  la 
Pierre,  at  random,  while  she  became  more  absorbed  than 
ever  in  the  cold  chicken.  The  fact  that  Miss  de  la 
Pierre  had  again  drawn  the  attention  of  this  entire  fash- 
ionable company  from  the  bridegroom  to  herself,  was  also 
a  very  romantic  and  gratifying  fact  to  that  little  spinster. 

Curiosity  was  at  its  height,  and  the  principal  of 
the  "  Seminary  of  Fashion "  was  pressed  on  all  sides. 
"  Come,"  said  Amelia,  at  last,  "  you  will  tell  us,  Miss  de 
la  Pierre,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  That  was  all  I  was  waiting  for,"  exclaimed  the  artful 
little  creature.  "  The  bride's  request  absolves  all  prom- 
ises to  the  bridegroom." 

"  This  is  bad  faith,"  said  Amos,  hopelessly.  The  old 
thievish  feeling  came  over  him,  and  he  resolved  on  the 
spot  never  to  deceive  Amelia  again. 

Miss  de  la  Pierre  now  proceeded  to  give  a  length}'  ac- 
count of  her  first  interview  with  Amos,  and  of  the  whole 
scandalous  affair  of  the  eighty  dollars  per  month.  At 
the  close  of  the  narrative  there  was  a  short  silence. 
Then  there  was  a  general  clapping  of  hands  and  hitting 
of  glasses,  which  Miss  de  la  Pierre  taking  as  a  compli- 
ment to  herself,  she  bowed  gracefully  in  all  directions. 

Before  the  tumult  had  subsided,  and  probably  to  relieve 
the  embarrassment  depicted  on  a  certain  lovely  face,  Mr. 
Andrew  Gloverson  rose  to  his  feet.  Silence  was  restored, 
and  the  chubby  merchant  spoke  as  follows :  "  This  con- 
firms me  in  the  belief  that  you  are  a  great  rascal,  Dixon 
—  a  great  rascal,  sir,  God  bless  you  ;  and  I  can't  stand 
this  any  longer.  I've  got  a  little  speech  to  make,  the  first 
one  I  ever  made,  but  I  am  going  to  make  it.  (Applause.) 
Now  sir,  Dixon,  sir,  the  firm  of  Gloverson  &  Co.  can't 
afford  to  pay  a  fine  young  gentleman  like  you  to  take 


366  GLOVERSON 

care  of  its  confidence  any  longer.  Your  salary  is  cut  off 
from  this  day,  sir  —  from  this  day.  (Great  sensation. 
Mrs.  Clayton  looks  indignantly  at  Mr.  Gloverson,  and  Miss 
de  la  Pierre  looks  sympathetically  at  Mrs.  Clayton.)  In 
the  first  place,  sir,  you  said,  or  as  much  as  said,  that  my 
own  judgment  had  gone  back  on  me,  when,  sir,  it  never  did, 
and  never  will,  sir.  I  had  the  '  Dorcas '  mine  developed, 
sir,  and  you  and  I,  as  you  well  know,  are  the  only  owners. 
The  mine,  sir,  is  one  of  the  best  in  the  country.  I  have 
put  a  mill  on  it,  and  it  pans  out  five  hundred  dollars  a 
ton,  sir.  The  ledge  is  thirteen  feet  wide,  being  all  pay 
ore  from  wall  to  wall ;  and,  Dixon,  sir,  you  are  a  rich 
man  to-day,  sir.  (Counter  sensation.  Mrs.  Clayton  and 
Miss  de  la  Pierre  are  observed  in  tears.)  I  don't  care  a 
pin  for  that,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  but  I  do  care  for 
the  reputation  of  my  own  judgment.  (Applause.)  In 
1859,"  pursued  Mr.  Gloverson,  "  I  bought  out  the  New 
York  house  doing  business  with  me.  That  was  several 
years  ago,  but  my  judgment  told  me  there  was  no  use 
painting  out  the  '  Co.'  in  the  sign,  and  there  wasn't. 
For,  Dixon,  sir,  you  are  a  partner  of  the  house  of  Glover- 
son &  Co.  Oh !  you  need  not  start.  There  is  another 
silent  partner,  and  you've  got  to  obey  orders.  We  must 
be  severe  with  you,  Dixon.  Your  salary  is  cut  off  from 
this  day,  sir  —  from  this  day.  (Applause.) 

"  Now,  sir,"  continued  Mr.  Gloverson,  fumbling  in  his 
coat  pockets,  "  I  have  a  little  paper  here,  which  is  in- 
teresting only  to  the  bride.  It's  merely  the  deed  of  a 
house,  and  I  only  wish  it  was  large  enough  and  good 
enough  for  such  an  angel.  I  always  said  she  should  be 
a  member  of  the  firm,  and  now  she  is,  if  she  will  only  let 
me  have  one  little  room  in  the  attic,  you  know,  just 
to  hide  my  old  head  in.  The  deed  is  in  her  name,  be- 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  867 

cause,  Dixon,  sir,  as  Miss  de  la  Pierre  says  —  no,  as  I  say 
—  you  are  a  great  rascal  —  and  I  can't  trust  him,  for  he 
is  a  great  rascal,  sir  —  Miss  Clay  —  no,  Mrs.  Dixon,  sir, 
God  bless  him.  (Great  applause,  which,  very  fortunately 
for  Mr.  Gloverson,  gave  him  time  to  breathe.  His  throat, 
however,  was  becoming  fuller  every  moment.)  Whereas, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  is,  therefore,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, allow  me  —  though  not  the  first  groomsman,  or  in- 
deed any  groomsman  at  all  —  allow  me  to  propose  my 
Silent  Partners  —  the  bride  and  bridegroom.  May  they 
....  may  they  ....  years  ....  angel  ....  per- 
fect angel  ....  and  God  bless  them !  " 

Andrew  Gloverson  took  his  seat,  and  wiped  away  — 
not  the  perspiration  this  time,  but  two  large  tears, 
which  had  filled  his  eyes  to  the  utter  obstruction  of  his 
vision.  The  greatest  orator  could  not  have  made  a 
greater  impression. 

The  enthusiasm  subsiding  somewhat,  calls  were  now 
made  for  "  Dixon,"  "  Dixon ; "  and,  as  that  gentleman  rose 
to  his  feet,  you  would  not  have  recognized  him  as  the 
young  man  introduced  to  your  notice,  in  the  first  chapter 
of  this  history.  In  the  whole  company  no  one's  attire 
sat  better,  and  no  one,  in  his  trying  position,  would  have 
been  more  gracefully  at  his  ease.  He  expressed  briefly 
and  naturally,  for  the  bride  and  himself,  their  overwhelm- 
ing sense  of  surprise  and  gratitude  at  what  Mr.  Glover- 
son had  just  said.  He  might  be  mistaken,  but  he  really 
believed  that  his  old  employer  and  friend  was  the  best 
man  on  earth  !  During  the  applause  with  which  this 
assertion  was  greeted,  and  while  Andrew  Gloverson  ob- 
served to  himself,  in  an  inaudible  whisper,  "  Dixon,  you 
be  d — d,"  Amos  looked  about  the  table  till  his  eyes 
met  those«of  Archibald  Beanson.  "  I  shall,"  continued 


368  GLOVERSON 

the  speaker,  "  call  upon  Mr.  Beanson  to  respond  to  the 
toast  I  shall  offer  as  appropriate  to  this  occasion.  Mr. 
Beanson,  by  the  way,  deserves  the  especial  gratitude  of 
certain  members  of  this  company,  for  the  very  able  and 
satisfactory  manner  in  which  he  struggled  for  an  upright, 
though  lost  cause.  (Here  a  positive  wink  passed  from 
Mr.  Gloverson  to  Mr.  Beanson.)  Mr.  Gloverson,  how- 
ever, has  stepped  in,  in  the  place  of  justice ;  and,  if  Mrs. 
Clayton  must  leave  this  house,  she  will  certainly  be  led 
to  another  as  good  "  — 

"  Comparisons  are  odious,"  interpolated  Mr.  Beanson  ; 
"  but  the  new  house  is  the  finer  of  the  two." 

"  Well,  sir,"  addressing  Beanson,  "  there  is  no  doubt 
still  of  an  indebtedness  to  you.  I  shall  therefore  take 
the  liberty,  as  junior  partner  —  no,  as  one  of  the  silent 
partners  of  the  house  of  Gloverson  &  Co.  —  to  appoint 
you  legal  adviser  and  collector  for  the  firm.  See !  Mr. 
Gloverson  confirms  the  appointment.  (Applause.)  But 
the  toast,  which  I  propose  to  offer  now,  is  one  that  has 
suggested  itself  to  me  with  a  sort  of  religious  interest 
to-day.  I  propose,  therefore,  that  we  rise  and  drink 
sijently  to  our  mothers,  living  or  dead.  If  mine  could 
have  seen  the  triumph  of  this  day  —  well,  Our  Mothers  ! " 

The  toast  was  drunk,  and  it  was  some  time  afterwards 
before  the  solemn  silence  was  broken. 

Then  Mr.  Archibald  Beanson,,  having  been  called,  re- 
turned thanks  for  the  compliments  of  Dixon,  after  which 
Mr.  Beanson,  artfully  taking  out  some  documents  from 
his  pocket,  continued:  "But  Mr.  Dixon  has  unintention- 
ally, I  am  sure,  misstated  a  few  facts.  I  have  been  rather 
busy  lately,  it  is  true,  with  the  legal  matters  of  Mrs. 
Clayton  and  her  lovely  daughter  (applause)  ;  but,  by 
consulting  this  paper,  which  I  now  deliver  up  to  Mrs. 


AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS.  369 

Clayton,  she  will  see  that  this  house,  together  with  most 
of  the  property  left  by  the  late  Mr.  Clayton,  is  still  in 
her  hands.  (Sensation.)  The  papers  of  George  Lang, 
lately  deceased,  were  rather  too  freely  displayed  by  the 
Coroner  to  leave  the  least  legal  doubt  about  the  present 
ownership  of  the  property.  You  will  find  a  clear  state- 
ment of  the  whole  procedure  in  that  paper,  Mrs.  Clayton. 
I  need  not  take  up  the  time  of  this  company  with  details. 
Most  of  the  sales  were  never  made  at  all,  as  is  plainly 
shown  by  the  papers  found  in  a  private  apartment  of  the 
late  Mr.  Lang's  safe.  The  money  from  the  other  fraudu- 
lent sales  can,  in  due  time,  be  recovered  from  Mr.  Lang's 
estate.  I  am  therefore  happy  to  congratulate  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton on  the  fact  that  she  can  pass  the  rest  of  her  days  in 
this  very  house,  if  she  likes  ;  and,  to  confess  the  truth,  I 
should  have  told  her  and  the  present  bride  a  week  ago, 
had  it  not  been  for  my  kind  friend  here,  Mr.  Gloverson, 
who  insisted  on  this  general  surprise.  This  will  account 
to  the  bride  for  the  extraordinary  and  heretofore  unex- 
plained addition  to  her  balance  at  her  banker's.  Trust- 
ing that  I  have  the  forgiveness  of  my  first  clients,  I  shall 
close,  by  offering  the  rather  abstract  sentiment  of  Grati- 
tude and  Justice :  —  We  all  have  cause  for  the  first,  and 
reason  to  believe  that  the  second  will  always  crown  the 
end." 

•  While  the  company  were  drinking  this  toast,  Amelia 
and  her  mother  flew  into  each  other's  arms,  and  laughed 
and  wept  by  turns. 

Seeing  which,  Captain  Tambol  proposed,  "  Everybody 
and  everything;"  and  the  joy  was  now  general  and 
boundless. 

The  scene  having  been  changed  to  the  parlor  again, 
Mr.  Andrew  Gloverson  gave  full  reins  to  his  delight. 
24 


370  GLOVERSON 

He  laughed  a  great  deal,  and  wept  just  a  little,  especially 
when  the  young  couple  prepared  to  take  their  departure. 

When  they  were  both  seated  in  the  carriage,  and  all 
the  good-bys  had  been  said  over  and  over  again,  Andrew 
Gloverson  rushed  out,  bare-headed,  and,  putting  his  two 
fat  arms  through  the  open  window  of  the  coach,  took 
Amelia  and  Amos  each  by  the  hand  — 

"I  may  live  with  you  in  the  new  house,  mayn't  I  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  certainly." 

"  Amelia,  you  are  an  angel ! "  said  Mr.  Gloverson, 
solemnly,  as  he  turned  toward  the  house. 

"  Andrew  Gloverson,  you  are  another  !  "  shouted  Amos, 
merrily,  through  the  window,  as  the  carriage  rolled  away, 
bearing  them  on  their  wedding  tour. 

Mr.  Gloverson  turned  and  looked  after  them  for  some 
time..  "  Dixon,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh,  "  Dixon,  you  be 
d — d.  You  have  my  blessing,  both  of  you  !  "  and  Mr. 
Gloverson  walked  slowly  back  into  the  elegant  house. 

Miss  Sophia  Garr  and  Mrs.  Leadbetter,  as  the  reader 
may  have  noticed,  were  not  at  the  wedding  —  a  slight 
which  both  of  them  felt.  To  Sophia  was  the  omission 
of  her  name  from  the  list  of  guests  especially  galling,  for 
she  had  actually  transmitted,  as  an  olive-branch,  her  un- 
asked consent  to  be  one  of  Amelia's  brides-maids.  She 
read  the  account  of  the  nuptials  aloud  to  Mrs.  Leadbetter, 
then  threw  down  the  paper  in  disgust. 

"  An  ungrateful  world,  Mrs.  Leadbetter  ! " 

"  A  heartless  world,  Sophia." 

At  the  next  session  of  court,  Mr.  Nelson  Shallop  was 
sent  to  spend  several  years  at  San  Quintin,  on  very  rea- 
sonable terms,  the  State  charging  him  nothing  at  all  for 
food  and  raiment. 


i 


'AND  HIS   SILENT   PARTNERS.  371 

The  steamer  for  the  East,  sailing  just  a  week  after 
Miss  Garr  read  this  last  announcement  in  a  city  paper, 
bore  her  and  Mrs.  Leadbetter  as  passengers.  Since  the 
latter's  divorce,  she  had  come  to  share  in  Sophia's  utter 
disgust  with  the  married  state.  Miss  Garr  took  what 
was  left  of  her  little  earnings  back  to  the  State  of  Maine. 
Mrs.  Leadbetter's  destination  was  not  certain.  She  was 
sure,  however,  that  there  was  not  heart  enough  in  Cali- 
fornia to  detain  her  there.  "  Good-by,"  said  Sophia  to 
Mrs.  Leadbetter,  when  they  finally  kissed  and  parted  in 
New  York,  the  sworn  enemies  of  marriage,  "good-by, 
Mrs.  Leadbetter ;  there  is  nothing  gained  by  it." 
"  Good-by,  Sophia;  there  is  everything  lost  by  it." 
"  A  heartless  world,  my  dear  Mrs.  Leadbetter ;  good- 
by." 

"  A  heartless  world,  indeed,  Sophia,  love  ;  good-by." 
And  yet  marriages  go  on  every  day  in  the  good  old 
commonwealth  of  Maine,  just  as  if  Miss  Sophia  Garr 
were  not  there.  Her  missionary  labors  cannot,  there- 
fore, be  very  well  appreciated.  It  is,  however,  due  to 
her  to  say  that  she  practises  what  she  preaches.  Sophia 
Garr  has  ceased  to  mine  in  the  affections  of  men. 

But  those  who  have  visited  Amos  and  Amelia  in  their 
new  home,  generally  go  away  impressed  with  a  philos- 
ophy the  very  opposite  to  that  of  Miss  Garr  and  Mrs. 
Leadbetter.  If  you,  forgiving  reader,  could  sit  at  the 
table  on  some  occasion,  when  Mrs.  Clayton  has  ridden 
up  in  state  from  the  elegant  house,  to  take  her  seat  just 
opposite  Mr.  Gloverson,  and  if  you  could  see  the  sub- 
dued joy  in  the  faces  of  the  young  couple  when  little 
Andrew,  their  first-born,  is  led  in  ;  if  you  could  see 
even  Mrs.  Clayton  as  happy  and  as  tractable  as  her  own 


372       GLOVERSON   AND   HIS   SILENT  PARTNERS. 

grandchild  —  well,  may  be,  you  would  believe,  too,  that 
love  has  a  mission  to  reward  and  punish. 

It  is  in  this  belief,  and  in  the  reflection  of  these  happy 
faces,  that  the  writer  of  the  foregoing  imperfect  chapters 
is  about  to  make  his  parting  bow.  Not  in  the  "  Dorcas  " 
mine,  or  in  the  bales  and  boxes  of  the  long  ware-rooms 
on  Front  Street ;  but  in  their  noble  faith  and  gentle 
confidence  and  constant  love,  do  this  prosperous  house 
consider  their  greatest  wealth.  Deal  generously,  there- 
fore, with  the  simple-hearted  firm ;  paying  them,  if  you 
can,  in  the  goods  they  value  most.  And  may  your  drafts, 
on  whomsoever  drawn,  in  the  same  happy  commerce 
of  the  heart,  be  honored  always  by  the  love-capital  of 
GLOVERSON  AND  HIS  SILENT  PARTNERS. 


THE    END. 


